


Cut Him Into Little Stars

by grizzly_bear_bane



Series: New Blood [1]
Category: Inception (2010), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biting, Blood Drinking, Crossover, Dean must stop staring at Arthur's ass, DemonBlood!Sam, Eames is not pleased, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fight Sex, Full Moon, Gen, Hunter!Arthur, Hunter!Eames, Kidnapping, Knotting, Lycanthrophy, M/M, Makeup Sex, Neither is Sam, Vampire!Arthur, werewolf!Eames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/pseuds/grizzly_bear_bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon after the Saito dream team transformed into the greatest hunters east of the Atlantic, Cobb made a promise to Eames that if the worst happened he would keep Eames alive at all cost. But when Crowley persuades the most powerful werewolf to turn Eames, and succeeds, Arthur has to try his best to accept the beast that now lives within his lover and partner.</p><p>And when Eames returns one early morning after a full moon and finds Arthur missing and the smell of vampires thick in the air, will it be so easy for him to then love whatever Arthur he'll find--if Arthur is even still alive after weeks of searching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! Chapters should go up weekly/biweekly so stay posted. :)
> 
> Comment, critiques, and suggestions are always welcomed and greatly appreciated.

“No.”

“Arthur,” Cobb tried again, “Your arm is bleeding. You’ve got a nasty scratch and I need to stitch it up for you.”

Oh. Arthur glared at the wide stretch of red covering his forearm under the remains of his shirtsleeve. He frowned at it, as if it wasn’t his arm he was looking at.

Cobb was talking again somewhere off in the distance in a voice one would use to calm a wild animal. But it didn’t make sense. Arthur was calm. He was perfectly calm. He wasn’t a wild animal either.

Cobb spoke delicately then like Arthur was a spooked child. He cut off the man’s too gentle pleading. “Where is Eames?” He clutched the rifle in his lap tightly for an instant, as if expecting the man – the beast – to jump out from behind the smashed table or the broken wardrobe, or through the window, at any second for another chance to rip his former lover’s throat out. Arthur glanced around the room to be sure, seeing then why Cobb was babying him.

Every inch of the motel room was wrecked, the floor littered in wood chips and splinters from furniture that had looked too nice to be in such a cheap place like this. And every soft pillow from the bed to the sofa and the mattress was turned inside out. Only one post of the bed and the side of the couch where Arthur sat were still in tact.

He rolled the shell casing of a silver bullet under his shoe, wondering if any of the shots had reached his target in the hast to put space between him and Eames.

Space. That was all he had asked for and once again, Eames had ignored his request. Just a few months. It was far less time than he knew he needed, but it was a compromise, to sort out his feelings about Eames’ new condition. But Eames wouldn’t listen, so Arthur ran.

He ran like he’d done the first time that the old Eames, the human Eames, had tumbled out an “I love you” during sex one too many times for him to convince Arthur-the-commitment-phobe that it was a mistake. That time, he’d been thankfully left alone, able to stay away long enough to realize that – for however much he hated the awfully dressed Brit, with his never-ending taunts, innuendos, and teasing – his life was complete shit without him. It didn’t help that the man’s dick was even bigger than his ego and sex was well, _otherworldly_.

And their life together had proved beneficial in more ways than he could count. When the dreamshare world was interrupted by the real world running rampant with angels and demons playing chess with human pawns, it was necessary to have someone you could trust, who knew you in and out and who had your back.

Eames had had Arthur’s back for almost six years now, long before their Fischer Job dream team had taken up hunting to combat the growing number of hired demons who were out for their blood—Namely Cobol Engineering, a corporation that had gladly jumped at the chance to hire thugs who weren’t so easily killed.

To be fair, Cobol wasn’t Eames’ problem, or Yusuf and Ariadne’s, but they stuck together. Ariadne came from a long line of hunters and with her precise training the rest of the team caught up quickly enough.

By the time Cobb retired from dreamshare to raise his young children in the States, those demons had changed from major threats to target practice, and the Cobol shadow at Arthur and Cobb’s back had eventually disappeared.

Cobb didn’t stay stateside long, however. More corporations were catching on to the presence of supernatural beings. The kind of money one could make as a professional hunter was double, sometimes triple that of a simple extractor. And if you were the best extractor the world could offer and came prepared with your own team, who also happened to be the very best, well…

Word spread quickly enough and they found themselves in trouble more often than not as Cobb’s insane schemes grew wilder. They had stopped being hired for jobs a year before and were now following Cobb across the globe to hunt monsters that had no quarrel at all with the human world.

Then Arthur’s soul was dragged to Hell from his tortured body through his fingertips and Eames, after exhausting himself getting it back, took Arthur as far away from Cobb as he could. No way was he going to let his Arthur get hurt or possessed or killed _again_. It wasn’t just that he’d spent half a decade and most of his twenties trying for the opportunity to even call Arthur “his,” Arthur now called Eames “his” too, and there was no way he was going to let all that effort and coxing out Arthur’s sentimental qualities go to waste.

This mentality hatched one night from an almost insignificant thought. His tired brain sparked with life again at Arthur’s hushed groan, a sound that always drove Eames nuts. It meant that Arthur was upset and pouty that even a few drops of Eames’ release had slipped out of his used body, no matter how much he tried to keep it all in.

No one else in the world had ever so completely wanted Eames as much as Arthur did. It was this moment that he knew he would have to stop at nothing to make sure he could keep Arthur’s love like this forever. The thought grew and expanded in Eames’ mind for weeks and Cobb was grateful enough that Eames hadn’t killed him for the lost-soul incident that he had agreed to Eames’ request without question.

Of course, life had a way of taking people to task when they least expected it and Eames was more than grateful in the end that Cobb had kept his promise.

Eames had a knack for not listening to reason when under pressure and all Arthur could do was yell and curse at his back as he watched Eames chase the enormous werewolf alpha further into the rundown meat packing factory recklessly and with no one to cover his back. He was a great fighter and could take care of himself most times, but this monster was overflowing with ancient power and speed that Eames couldn’t have matched on a good day.

Something vital had been ripped from Arthur’s heart when he saw Yusuf and Cobb struggle to bring Eames’ bloody and torn body into a safe spot in the factory's supply room. The forger was covered in so much red that when given the chance most of them plucked out their totems to make sure this wasn’t some horrible sweet dream that they could wake up from. He watched the man battle and lose against the werewolf toxins coursing through his veins. He had been bitten several times. Arthur tried his best to accept Eames’ inevitable death. His lover was going to die and leave him behind. In all of his constant and finely detailed planning, he had never prepared for a scenario like this. He wondered if he could still bury Eames or if the whole body needed to be cremated.

He left the room, unable to witness what he knew had to happen next—what _should_ have happened, what happened countless times before to all manner of innocent people undeserving of such a violent execution. But it _didn’t_ happen.

He’d almost killed Cobb himself, enrage that the man refused to put Eames out of his misery and kill the werewolf growing inside his body. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair to Arthur to have his should-be dead lover overtaken by something evil and for everyone to pretend that it was suddenly okay.

Too soon Eames’ body changed and he lunged for Ariadne who was the nearest piece of meat to the raging wolf, but before he could get his jaws wrapped around her throat, he changed course and moved for Arthur instead, who was ready now to take Eames out himself.

But again Eames changed, shifted back to human, standing stark naked in the middle of the room, his wounds now just a painful memory.

It scared Arthur like nothing had in his life, the way Eames looked at him, as if he was going to fuck him right there and rip out his chest and eat his heart all at once. He was different, different even from all the other werewolves they had come across. He was better, bigger, stronger, like an alpha though they knew it was impossible.

Arthur didn’t sleep for a week. Grief, fear, and dread kept him on his feet.

Eames immediately tried to prove himself to be the same old Eames to Arthur as the week carried on, killing every werewolf he could find, thinking that if he could destroy the alpha it might reverse his condition.

Arthur was reluctant, but stayed at his side, though at a painful and defensive distance, until the full moon took them all by surprise a week and a half later.

Eames had convinced Arthur to come to bed with him. Arthur was bone tired from constant tension and couldn’t resist the opportunity to find some relief and semblance of normalcy. Surely if they tried to reconnect, it would solidify that Arthur was overreacting, that nothing had really changed and that Eames was owed an apology.

However, Eames morphed during sex and, unable to control his wolf instincts, attempted to mate his very non-werewolf partner.

Arthur ended up in the hospital with a set of unexplainable injuries that had hurt more than his pride and dignity.

He disappeared after that and it became far less important for Eames to find the alpha now with Arthur, and more importantly the scent of his mate, so far away. He set his sights on winning him back.

And he’d been successful, almost. It only proved more terrifying for Arthur that Eames could find him. Arthur was the best pointman in the world, the man who had successfully covered Cobb’s tracks for years from the feds and had Cobol-fucking-Engineering demons running in circles. Yet everywhere he turned, within a few days, Eames was there too.

Arthur had stopped hunting and had taken up dreamsharing again just to get away. He’d changed aliases, his hair, even his accent twice, and had seen enough of the underground, backwoods, gang territories, from Brazil to Bangladesh, and Eames had been hot on his trail all the way.

Of course he would be. He was wanted dead more than alive in every single one of these places, but what did a werewolf like George Eames have to fear? He had become worse than the thing of nightmares and he wasn’t particularly shy about demonstrating the power of his new canines on a few of these thugs, if the newspapers were anything to go by.

Which was why Arthur was here in this cheap motel in Reno, working a simple dreamshare job with Cobb, Yusuf, and Ariadne that thankfully didn’t require a forger. And for a few short days he had actually convinced himself that Eames had stopped looking for him. Now he was beginning to think they’d set him up.

With the job nearly completed, they’d all headed back here to their rooms to get dressed to go out for dinner. Arthur had noticed the unfamiliar car parked in the space in front of Ariadne’s room but thought nothing of it. It was obvious that he was exhausted or else this would have raised some form of suspicion.

He turned the key in the lock, opened the door, went to the wardrobe to hang up his suit jacket and Eames was standing by the front door when he turned around.

He looked good. Really good, now that Arthur had a proper chance to look him over.

Perhaps things wouldn’t have gone so far south so quickly if Eames had at least knocked before breaking in. Arthur mentioned this, trying for casual as he edged his way an inch closer to the bed where his trusty rifle laid waiting under the pillows. But Eames had smelled an unfamiliar scent outside the door and any attempt at politeness had vanished, he’d said.

Arthur’s stomach sank with dread as he remembered the man who had been here two days prior. One of the brutish Eames-substitutes he would pick up every once in a while at a sketchy bar if a job brought him close to an army base whenever his need for the real Eames was so high it was hard to think straight.

It clearly made no difference, these trysts. Now that the real thing was _here_ and staring at him like that again. His mind had always sided with Eames and his body usually followed. He was thinking about how desperately he wanted, needed, Eames to claim him, prove that there really was no man that could make Arthur sing the way Eames did. All this time he had been an idiot for hoping otherwise.

There was no point in trying to school his expression once the initial shock wore off. Even before the beast changed Eames and sharpened his senses, the man had been able to see past Arthur’s greatest mask of indifference.

He blinked and Eames had him on his back, the old springs in the bed complaining under the larger man’s weight. Arthur wanted to say that Eames was too strong for him to fight off but it was lie. The quickest way to a submissive and wanton Arthur was Eames pinning him with his bulk into a mattress. Or wall. Or floor. And Eames had apparently gained even more muscle over the months apart, along with a slight beard. The man’s presence was overwhelming now, deliciously so. He couldn’t fault the man that.

He arched as best he could to rub their bodies together. Eames’ shirt was off and Arthur belt was soon following it to the floor when Eames growled and flipped him. He wasn’t a wolf yet, Arthur knew, but his human teeth would soon break the skin of his nape the way Eames held him in place, showing dominance.

Strong solid arms snaked under him and pulled open his shirt. Arthur’s mind snapped back into focus when fingers scratched his stomach with something sharper than human nails. He felt it then, the fur at his neck and the rough tongue that lapped behind his ear. Panicking, he bucked to throw Eames off and get some space, but the teeth at his shoulder punctured the skin in warning and a growl vibrated up his back.

He grabbed the rifle and rolled them, slamming the butt of the gun into whatever part of Eames he could get to. They ended up momentarily back where they’d started, with Eames near the door – Arthur’s only escape – and Arthur near the bathroom.

Arthur could have sworn he’d fired point blank at Eames when the huge wolf finally pounced. It was all a blur now.

He barely noticed Cobb cleaning and stitching the scratches on his arm. All he knew was that his should-be-dead boyfriend had attacked him. He wanted to argue with Cobb that no, he wasn’t shaking, Cobb’s stitching was just sloppy. And no, he didn’t need to talk about it or a hug because he wasn’t on the verge of tears. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t upset, he was angry. He needed that anger to propel him forward. He couldn’t just curl up into a tiny ball like he wanted to and disappear.

Knowing his luck Eames would just find him again.

“Arthur.” He braced himself. “You’re not going to like what I have to say, but just bare with me.”

“You know I can’t stay, Dom. Just the fact that he’s nearby, I can’t—I can’t do this.”

“But what is it that you can’t do,” Cobb urged. “That doesn’t sound like the Arthur I know. If there’s anybody who can handle this it’s you—”

“He’s _not_ Eames. Okay? He’s not. I mean, look at this place. Eames wouldn’t do this, he wouldn’t…” He wouldn’t hurt Arthur. He glanced to his lap to make sure the rifle was still there. But was it loaded? “I saw it. I saw him be ripped to shreds and then change. I…” he shook his head, willing his friend to understand.

Cobb sighed, patting his shoulder. He chose his words carefully. “I would have given anything to bring Mal back. I tried my best to pretend that the projection was the same, you know? But she tied you down to a bed and helped a serial killer take out your spine like they were pulling up roots, and I knew then that no matter how much I pretended, it wasn’t the same. Not even close.” He shook his head, eyes far off and lost in memories. “Believe me, Arthur, I know it’s hard.”

The room was suddenly too quiet. Arthur frowned. “I don’t want my story to end like that.”

“But your story isn’t like mine, Arthur. You have Eames. He’s here, he’s real. And as much as it may not look it right now in this mess, he’s trying. I don’t think what happened hit anyone harder than it did Eames. His case isn’t so simple like with other werewolves we’ve seen. He remembers things when he shifts almost like the human and wolf sides are linked. It’s incredible. But he’s still had to relearn how to do almost everything. The tiniest spark and he’d go off like a bomb, yet when a demon tried to take Ariadne off guard once, Eames ripped the guy in half. He protected Ariadne. Normal werewolves don’t do that. And I still don’t think Eames ever stopped being ashamed and embarrassed about whatever happened between you two.”

Arthur could feel his cheeks getting hot. “He put me in the hospital.”

“Not on purpose, right?”

He couldn’t argue that point like he wanted to so he focused his scowl on a tear in the carpet instead.

Cobb pressed on. “He’s clumsy with his strength sometimes, and still figuring out his abilities, but he’s learned a lot. I’m telling you Arthur, give him another chance.”

A knock at the door saved Arthur from having to respond. Cobb moved to open it and all Arthur could think of now was having to explain to the creepy manager why his room was beyond trashed.

Ariadne entered the room with Yusuf close behind her. Arthur had to give her credit: her poker face was much better than Yusuf’s, who was positively twitching with anxiety and had guilt written all over his forehead when he looked everywhere but Arthur’s face.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but closed it tight when Eames walked in and politely closed the door behind him, effectively sealing them all in the room together.

He didn’t look ashamed or embarrassed in the least, Arthur noted. He appeared every bit as confident and in charge as always, willing Arthur to brace himself against whatever snarky comment Eames prepared to throw his way.  He met Arthur’s eyes and held them with ease.

For a tense moment the room was silent, everyone held their breaths.

Eames took a step forward with purpose. Arthur jumped to his feet reflexively, gun aimed. Daring the wolf to resurface.

This time, he wouldn’t hesitate, no matter how much he wanted to. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposting this without all the late night mistakes.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the support with the first chapter! I LIVE FOR YOU, MY DARLINGS!
> 
> Also, I want to apologize if I take too many liberties with imagining what the alpha werewolf/first-generation werewolves looked like. Please don't kill me. I give you my heart. Will it suffice? D:
> 
> As always, comments, critiques, and suggestions are welcomed and greatly appreciated.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Third chapter's coming soon!)

He almost didn’t notice Cobb edge his way in front of the gun’s barrel, blocking Eames from view.

“Now wait, Arthur. Hang on a sec. Before you make a decision, let’s all talk first, okay?”

Cobb was clearly stalling. Arthur ignored him and pointed his chin at Eames’ blood-spotted clothing. The awkward fit must have meant that they were Yusuf’s. “You’re still bleeding?”

He shrugged with a wince. “You shot me. More than once. Ariadne dug the out slugs herself. Yusuf was too squeamish,” he tried to smirk disarmingly but it came out as a grimace.

Arthur eyed him over. He didn’t look to be any worse for wear than when he’d first showed up, save for the obvious wounds, which were probably close to healing by now. His shoulders sunk minutely as an idea crossed his mind. “And you’re still standing.”

Yusuf confirmed his suspicion. “Well, we’ve been thinking since he was bitten by either the alpha or someone pretty close to it, the silver’s not as effective as it usually is with less powerful wolves. I’m also guessing that this has something to do with why he’s more wolf than man when he turns, also an atypical feature. He’s like a…super-duper, Rambo pureblood, or something.” Yusuf beamed. “Rumor is that the alpha and most of the first-generation werewolves, once turned, never shift back into a human form at all, and over time they become even more wolf-like. Which is both awesome and terrifying at the same time. We’re pretty lucky to have Eames.”

“Always a pleasure to be your lab horse galloping you through the plush fields of supernatural biology, Yusuf, but I’m not sure all this is helping our Arthur relax.”

He was right. Arthur was still watching the forger when he lowered the rifle reluctantly, his arm was starting to ache. “So Eames is impervious to silver bullets. Which means I pretty much have nothing to defend myself with the next time you lose your shit and try to kill me.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I wasn’t trying to kill you, Arthur,” Eames growled annoyed, but tried to calm down when Arthur’s rifle pointed back at his face. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure if, standing this close without his sturdier beast side to protect him, he would fare so lucky if he got his face blown off. “Well at least, I wasn’t—not at _first_ , but you did shoot me,” he grimaced. “And I tend to not do so well when I’m getting shot at, so...” He rubbed his chin. Maybe sarcasm wasn’t appropriate right now.

Ariadne tried from her perch on the windowsill. “It did slow him down a bit? And my room’s still in decent condition, so… It snapped him out of it.”

He frowned. “Oh yeah, that makes me feel so much better.” Surprising his own self, he let Cobb take the rifle away, unenthusiastic as ever but cooperating—Although he made sure to take note of where his precious Remington was being placed. Just in case.

“Eames is impervious to silver bullets,” Arthur repeated to himself, letting that fact roll around in his head for a bit, coming up with over a dozen worst-case scenarios for why this point alone was reason enough to not trust Eames—he didn’t fail to notice as well the audible sigh from everyone when Cobb took his gun. They all thought that _he_ was a threat, not Eames! Incredible. “Great. So what happens now?”

Eames tried not to smile too openly at Arthur’s grumbling. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think Arthur pouting was the most adorable thing. “Yusuf has been working tirelessly to concoct a more powerful bullet, if that helps.” He eyed Arthur almost fondly. “Your aim is much better than his, darling.”

“Ha-ha-bloody-ha. I only shot you in the nuts _once_. It was a mistake, okay,” Yusuf mumbled petulantly. “I wasn’t expecting a bloody werewolf to piss on my car right when I was about to open fire. And your mutant, satanic piss stripped the bloody paint off the passenger door. So we’re even.”

Eames quirked an eyebrow and amended his previous statement. “Your aim will _definitely_ always be better than his, Arthur.”

Arthur snorted in amused disbelief. “You never change, do you,” he griped without thinking.

“Well, that’s the point of this little intervention, isn’t it, pet. I’m still the same old devilishly attractive thorn in your arse.” He mentally gave himself a pat on the back. If anything could get Arthur to respond in a way that was more ‘I hate your guts’ than ‘I’m going to kill you,’ Eames would count it as a small win.

Arthur frowned. Eames was trying to distract him.

When Arthur didn’t comment, Eames played another card: He begged. “Arthur, _darling_. Please. I’m sorry that I hurt you, all right? I promise I’ll do better from now on. We can work through this. We’re a team. Remember?”

Damn. He screwed his eyes shut. This was exactly why he’d run the first time. It wasn’t enough being so attached to this man that not being in the same room for more than five minutes had him pining, or that it made seeing Eames get bitten easier to bear, no. Now he couldn’t even stop the weak feeling in his knees or the blush creeping up under the collar of his shirt because Eames begged. And as much as he wanted to run away, Eames still called him darling in the same way that made him want to jump on the space of bed still in tact and let Eames fuck him into peaceful oblivion.

Arthur didn’t like feeling this…relaxed—normal?—around Eames. But it was easy enough with the man still looking like, well, a man. _His_ man.

He rubbed subconsciously at the prickly stitches just under the back of his torn shirt collar where he’d been nipped. It would take a much harder, violent bite to turn him, but this one was scary enough as is.

Arthur hated being so out of control and blind with his feelings. He missed Eames terribly… Maybe, for just a little while perhaps, he could stay. Try this out, make it work.

Even if Eames had never become a werewolf, he still wanted to kill the man for making him so sentimental. But maybe that was it. He was being too sentimental about all this. They were partners – work partners – and part of a team. They had worked together for years and had been at each other’s throats from day-one, long before they’d started sleeping together. And what had Arthur done but abandon them all because of his feelings. Eames wasn’t a human anymore but he was still a hunter _and_ a team player. And there was no way in hell that he would let Eames make him look bad.

“Eames is right, Arthur,” Cobb pressed. “You’ve been gone long enough.”

He squared his shoulders. “Fine. Okay, but…”

Eames put up his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep my paws to myself,” he promised, perhaps more serious than he’d ever been. “Boy scout’s honor—or whatever it is Cobb always says.”

“You have to be a boy scout first in order to—” Cobb pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. So long as we’re all on the same page and can work together like civilized human beings again.”

They all looked at each other, wondering when anyone of them had ever been “civilized” in this dream theft, forging, illegal weaponry and compound-making, bar-fight, gun-totting, demon burning, wild wild west world they lived in. Not to mention, one of them wasn’t technically a human, at least not 100% of the time. But when Ariadne opened her mouth to comment on this she was met with a gang of glares and decided it was best to let this go on a positive note.

Cobb frowned and glanced at his watch. “We’ll head out tomorrow morning at six. Arthur, we can take your things over to my room, and Eames can stay with Yusuf and Ariadne.”

“Sounds good,” Ariadne nodded. “Now if we could just get through the rest of this night, things might just turn around.”

She knocked on the wooden doorframe on her way out for good measure.

 

 

++++

Eames had been caught staring again for what seemed like the hundredth time today. “What?”

He could feel Arthur roll his eyes, though the pointman’s back was still turned.

“I said,” he huffed, “that the full moon is coming in about five or six days and asked if you had someplace to go to when you changed. And then I asked if you could tell Cobb that we’d be ready to leave in about ten minutes, if you don’t mind.”

Arthur was on his hands and knees, dirtying his expensive black slacks. He meticulously cleaned away the chalked Devil’s Trap and any fingerprints left behind from Ariadne’s hasty work. Now that Eames and Cobb had finished interrogating the demon about rumors of the Colt resurfacing, he wanted to make sure that everything was as spotless as when they’d first arrived.

“Uh…sure. Of course.” What was Eames agreeing to?

He shook his head. Eames hadn’t had a proper chance to really look at Arthur when they’d fought in that Reno motel. The next day, however, when everyone had been able to sleep off the night’s stress, Eames realized exactly why he’d pounced the day before.

Arthur was gorgeous. A little frayed around the edges from so much travelling, but that too-sharp look in his eyes made Eames explode with blinding lust. He wanted to mate Arthur, properly, before anyone else could get their hands on him again.

He’d been able to learn a lot about his new identity and how to better control the beast during their time apart. He knew what this urge to mate was now and how to distract himself enough to keep it buried.

Too bad he hadn’t possessed an ounce of control when it had really mattered. There was no way Arthur would have survived in Reno with Eames’ in such a ravenous state. It was scary enough that the beast within wouldn’t take no for an answer and had to get shot at in order to calm down—Thank god for silver immunity or Arthur would have shot him into worm food that night.

He noticed that Arthur’s hair was different as well, more relaxed with how it waved and curled the tiniest little bit at the back of his neck, still polished and precise as ever, but Eames wanted to grip that hair and do naughty things, things that he’s promised he wouldn’t do until Arthur allowed it.

Though, thinking about how the past two months had gone, with Arthur just recently being able to work in the same room as Eames without a weapon on hand, it seemed like that would never happened again, especially not in the face of Arthur’s ironclad stubbornness. Eames wanted his hands on those tiny hips, but he also didn’t want to have Arthur leave again, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and fished for a smoke and his matches.

Arthur still hadn’t turned around but stretched out his hand behind him to lend Eames his lighter. “Everything okay, Eames?”

For a heartbeat, the forger almost didn’t take it. Arthur always did things like this for him, always _had_ , at least, when things had been perfect. Eames would search his pockets for his keys and Arthur would have them ready; they would scatter after a completed extraction and he wouldn’t realize until halfway down the street that he’d left his satchel behind and Arthur would have it in his lap waiting for Eames in the hotel lobby; he’d even forgotten his passport once, but Arthur was there slipping it into his pocket at the airport; with so many small things slipping Eames’ mind, Arthur had a solution ready, as if he knew Eames better than Eames knew himself.

The lighter exchanged hands and Arthur went back to his thorough cleaning. Their fingers touched only briefly but Eames knew the man was blushing, could feel the air around them change, see the shells of his ears turn pink. He wanted to talk, really talk, to Arthur, but he kept his distance.

“Eames,” Arthur turned his way, his face expressionless, but his shoulders were tense, as if the lack of a single incident this whole time meant nothing at all.

Eames nodded, muttered a thanks, and quickly headed for the stairs to the roof for some fresh air.

When he got there, Cobb was near the railing, looking out over the city. “I always love Tokyo at sunrise,” he mused. After a beat he asked, “Trouble with Arthur?”

“Is Charles Bronson still in prison,” he offered sarcastically and joined him at the railing.

Cobb turned to him confused. “The actor?”

“No. It’s an expression. Different guy… Never mind.” He lit his cigarette, but wanted to eat it when he noticed his and Arthur’s initials engraved on the lighter. He needed a drink. Too bad Yusuf wasn’t here.

Cobb was still studying him, trying to figure out whether Eames was already drunk or just losing his mind.

Eames could have laughed at himself. How could a man like George Eames explain to Dom Cobb that he wanted to take Arthur to bed for a month and mate the man Cobb considered to be his little brother? Cobb – crazy, enough to risk dropping himself and his entire team, including the CEO to an empire, into limbo just for his own needs – wasn’t always stealth about his possessiveness of Arthur and his jealousy towards Eames.

Even now Cobb, recovered from the miscommunication, had a look in his eye that was far too smug, like he knew some obvious truth that Eames didn’t and he wasn’t too intent on sharing what it was.

“Arthur said we’re good to go in ten,” Eames offered instead.

Cobb nodded and turned his way, putting his hand on the forger’s shoulder. “Just give it time, Eames. Maybe try a different angle. If Arthur’s one thing, he’s adaptable, but only when he thinks it’s necessary, so try getting to that point.” He headed for the stairs.

Eames gazed out over the city as the horizon grew brighter still, puzzling over the man’s words.

 

**++++**

When Arthur found himself in a familiar dreamscape it was almost by accident.

It had been ages since the last time he’d built his own scene and it felt good to be able to crumble his simple construction of the office lobby and build up something new.

Its layout was like night and day to the first design. Not a hint of contemporary in sight. The walls were a rich forest green though it peeled in places and the ceiling was low, the space cozy. An ancient bathtub on four lion paws sat tucked into the corner under a showerhead that at one time provided him some of the best showers in his life. The sink was almost dwarfed by the large ornate mirror above it. He touched the smooth pale marble of its surface. The tiles were cool and damp under his bare feet.

He was in Eames' bathroom in his small Mombasa flat. He remembered being here as if only a week had passed instead of years. He could almost feel the steam cloud the room, and when he opened his eyes, the tub was filled with deliciously hot water.

He remembered being incredibly sore from a fight outside the bar where he and Eames had drank too much. The architect from the last job was pissed that their extractor hadn’t paid him what he thought was his far share and had gone to Eames for answers with a posse of men looking for a fight. The man got one decent shot in, a cut near Eames’ thigh with his knife.

None of the men had expected Arthur to see this and fly into a rage and viscously retaliate. They figured they could handle the ‘skinny boy’ and Eames, but in the end, they all lay on the ground unconscious while Eames and Arthur burned off the rest of their adrenaline making out in the alley a few paces away, unable to contain their years of sexual tension any longer.

In return for gaining several nasty bruises to help him, Eames ran Arthur a bath and massaged his aching muscles until Arthur pulled him in, causing a wave of water to flood the checker tiled floor.

He blushed remembering how painfully good the acoustics where in here. They would fuck for the first time later in Eames’ equally ornate bedroom, but just having the bulky man on top on him like this, his massive hands planted firmly under Arthur’s narrow waist to keep him from crushing the smaller man…

Without thinking he disrobed. Arthur needed to feel the sting of the water’s warmth again. He wasn’t even bruised sore like that last time, but a moan still escaped his throat when he sank in up to his chin. He didn’t care one bit if the timer ran out with him just sitting here. He knew that this deep soothing, rested feeling would follow him back to the real world.

He lay his head back on the tub’s rim. Content, he closed his eyes and, as if falling into another dream, heard the voice of his lover outside the door just before it opened and the man walked in.

“Arthur?” Eames was beyond awestruck to see Arthur in the tub, wondering if this was a projection he’d accidentally brought along.

Arthur stared and slowly reached for his totem in his pants pocket before he remembered he was in fact still dreaming. “You followed me here?”

“I… Cobb needs you topside.” He cleared his throat. Arthur’s scent was everywhere and clinging to his skin. He tried to mask his features as he turned to leave, almost happy to kill himself to get out of here and away from such a—

“You’re in my dream.” An observation more than a question.

“Of course, darli—Arthur.”

“You can still dream,” he said in the same hushed voice. “You aren’t a projection.” When Eames only shook his head no, that he wasn’t a projection, Arthur sat up. “Come here.”

It was like the beckoning call of a siren. He was kneeling beside the tub before he knew it.

Arthur touched his face with warm pinked fingertips. “How…?” He caught himself fingering Eames’ beard and meant to withdraw but his hand was caught in Eames’ gentle grip.

He kissed Arthur’s palm. “There are a lot of things I can still do,” his voice rumbled.

Arthur swallowed. “But, can you still shift?”

His kissed his palm again, thinking back to easier times. “No. I’m myself here, I can forge myself as a werewolf, but the real thing is always left behind. Not sure why, but it hardly matters.”

He couldn’t help letting his fingers trail down Arthur’s arm to his elbow and back up again.

It gave Arthur goose bumps. He didn’t know what to think or do but he kept his hand at Eames’ mouth and let his breath tickle his palm.

“Eames?”

“Hm,” he answered, distracted by the curve of Arthur’s shoulder and the rise of his collarbone.

He closed his eyes again and shivered, his skin drinking up this simple touch. “Eames, I’m sorry.”

Eames stopped the progression of his fingers, thinking that Arthur’s sorry meant that the man was still denying him, but when he tried to stand, Arthur gripped his jacket.

He sat on the floor again, surprised when he was offered a bar of soap. Arthur looked pained, like he wanted to say more, but couldn’t. Eames took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He took the soap and lathered it in the steaming water. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KA-BOOM: Chapter three.
> 
> It's painfully short, blissfully smuttish, and ends on a cliff-hanger. Sorry. :/
> 
> Chapter four should be up before ya know it!

Those warmed hands rubbed the soap in circles over his back and shoulders. Arthur leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his drawn legs. He couldn’t remember the last time being naked around Eames made him blush this much.

“You always did like your water scalding,” Eames spoke low behind him. A tiny smile cracked his face and he saw a dimple barely there on the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

“And yours was always lukewarm,” he teased, “Just like your coffee.” At the top of his spine his skin tingled under Eames’ lips. He swallowed another lump of nerves and tried to play it cool. Inside, he was going a little crazy with want. Celibacy – particularly when your normal object of lust had been an arm’s reach away for months – didn’t suit Arthur at all.

He drew his legs up closer, trying to hide the telltale sign of his body stirring. When Eames extended Arthur’s arms to soap them, he had a moment of panic. They were moving too fast. What if this was a mistake? What if he and Eames had crossed a line here, when he knew for a fact this wouldn’t be happening in the real world.

He splashed water on his face and breathed deep. This was supposed to relax him, and it was, but why was he still so on edge?

“Eames…”

“This doesn’t have to change anything,” Eames whispered in his hair. “I’m quite fine with waiting, if that’s what you need.”

This was it, the open door, an escape back onto safer ground. All he had to do was take the offer, but he didn’t.

Save for the slosh and patter of water the room was too quiet. When Eames hesitated, Arthur reached for his soapy hands and urged him to wash his chest.

After a pause he asked the question that had been on his mind for months. “What’s it like?”

Eames wanted to ask for specifics, but he knew what Arthur meant. He stilled his hands and tried to answer. “Well, it’s like…you’re sharing space with something else. It’s in your mind and you can feel it under your skin. And when that other half takes over, surprisingly you feel more…like you’re supposed to, you know? It’s like I’m no longer at odds with myself.” He toyed with the soap in his hand, putting the words together. “But at the same time, it’s like you’re dropped into a world where everyone else is moving in slow motion and the volume’s up way too loud. Instead of 20/20 vision, it’s 10/10… And…you always want something in your mouth, when you shift, something to chew on.” And something to screw, he wanted to add, but that wouldn’t be helpful. He went back to idly massaging Arthur’s shoulders. “I’m lucid, but some times I wonder if it’s so much of a plus to be aware of all that I did, all those things that happened in those first weeks—apart from chewing Yusuf’s kitchen table down to sawdust, of course.”

Arthur frowned. He’d never heard the man sound so self-loathing in his life. He wrapped Eames’ arms around his chest, getting the his shirt wet, and grimaced. “Thank god I haven’t done anything to make it harder on you. That would have really sucked, huh?”

Eames watched the soap float in the water and pool around Arthur’s closed knees. “Yes, you’ve been quite…” He sighed. He rested his head on Arthur’s hair. “To be fair, I did hurt you. A lot. I never did apologize for any of that, did I? I _am_ sorry I screwed up so badly.”

Arthur shifted awkwardly. “It’s gotten better for you, right? You seem to be handling it pretty good—Your condition, I mean.”

The hard tiles made his knees ache but Eames didn’t complain when Arthur dropped his head back on his shoulder. He squeezed Arthur tight in his arms. “The truth,” he mused, “I _like_ who I am now, what I am. Not having to fear death when I get shot, being stronger than every demon I’ve come across, being faster, sharper, it feels good, Arthur. I just hate what it’s done to us.” He hadn’t meant to say that last bit, but it was out there and he couldn’t regret being honest.

Eames played with a soap bubble on Arthur knee and watched his foot toy with the chain on the tub stopper.

Arthur stared up at the ceiling. He remembered being so young, so shy and reserved back in those early years. He had been a fighter for most of his life and took care of himself for much longer, yet now he felt small and awkward all over again.

For however dominant Eames was, even with Dom and Saito, he had always let Arthur take the lead when it was just the two of them. Arthur simply knew how to make the kinds of decisions with good odds and favorable outcomes—He would have made for one perfect gambler if his sense of ‘morals’ weren’t through the roof.

Arthur was now in uncharted waters and perhaps, just a tiny bit, he needed Eames to take the reigns on this one.  It was a risk, handing over that control to someone whose mind was working with a thing that wanted to ‘chew’ on him. Well… it was easy to think that maybe they weren’t ready for this topside.

There was still time on the clock. As long as they were here, there was no werewolf waiting to pounce. Eames’ hands had been on him this whole time and so far he wasn’t covered in scratches and blood. That couldn’t happen here. So wasn’t now the perfect time to test these waters?

At last he spoke quietly. “Did you ever run into other hunters while I was gone?” This was another source of guilt for Arthur. He had left and haven’t once thought about what could happened if others didn’t know Eames wasn’t a…a monster. What if they hurt him? Or worse.

Eames smiled at the question, noting the concern in Arthur’s voice, but there was something else, underneath. It was alluring, like the siren call feeling when Eames first stepped into the bathroom. He knew exactly what it was. “You needn’t worry, love, I know enough about keeping private things just that—Though the few we did run into were all too busy assuming you were dead to notice much else about me.”

Perhaps it was an accident when the man’s thumb grazed his nipple. Eames’ hand was in the water petting Arthur’s stomach suddenly. He had to remember to breathe. “Eames,” the moan slipped past his lips without thought. So much for modesty. And _stalling_.

Eames caught a stronger whiff of Arthur’s scent and chuckled low. It rumbled up Arthur’s spine. “Oh pet. It really has been ages since I took care of you proper. I’d be a liar to say I didn’t miss it,” he whispered, emboldened when a stronger touch made Arthur arch back against the curve of the tub. “And I’d have to be a bloody fool not to see that you miss it too.”

What could Arthur do when the man parted his thighs but let him? Touch starved his legs stretch out over the rim of the tub, inviting. He was painfully hard now. His breath issued out in short puffs and Eames hadn’t even touched him _there_ yet, but knowing it was going happen was enough to make him tremble. “Eames…”

“Anything you want, darling.” He could bite Arthur here without hurting him so he nipped and marked a line from shoulder the jaw, reveling in the feel of Arthur arching like a cat after a particularly hard bite behind his ear. “Tell me what you need.”

Arthur tugged his arm until he had Eames on top of him, soaking his clothes and sending waves of soapy water cascading over the floor. He ripped at Eames’ shirt buttons and kissed him like it held the cure to any ailment he may ever have. Eames was as wonderfully overpowering as he had been topside, though there was no danger this time. Though if Eames crushed his hips into Arthur’s one more time he might just die.

Eames lifted the pointman’s slender hips and let his own bulk keep those legs parted, open for him to nestle between them. He tore open his belt and pants letting his cock slide with Arthur’s and find its way between his cheeks.

Arthur moaned into the forger’s mouth not caring about anything other than getting his hands on all of Eames. There were new muscles on the man and Arthur wanted to kiss and touch every last one, but that would have to wait until later. Right now he needed Eames to fill him.

They had discovered some time long ago that if they could dream up whole cities, they could dream up a bottle of lube. And if they could dream up the bottle, why not something extra special for times like this when they were in a rush?

Eames’ cock felt the difference at once, the sudden slickness at Arthur’s opening and he growled. “Holy mother fuck Arthur, I missed you. You’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

Arthur was practically out of the water when Eames thrust in smooth and slow. Wrapped tightly in Eames’ arms, he gripped the rim of the tub behind his head and hooked his knees over the tub’s sides, ready to take whatever Eames could give.

They fucked in earnest, Eames’ thrust sending more water onto the floor. Arthur simply held on, blushing when the room amplified every sound that issued from his mouth and mixed with the wolf-like grunts of pleasure from Eames whenever their skin connected hard enough.

Eames could barely keep a rhythm, wanting to go slow and draw this out but hard and fast all the same. He was lost in the sight of Arthur’s redden cheeks, his mouth snapped shut in a battle to keep in his delicious cries, his hips bruising under the forger’s thumbs.

Eames couldn’t speak, what could he say? Always a talker during their romps, the sight of Arthur soaking wet and falling apart, really letting his guard down and trusting Eames to take care of him, it left him speechless.

Arthur couldn’t blame it on acoustics, he was practically singing now when Eames shifted his hips and found that perfect spot. The man was singularly focused on hitting it over and over. Arthur’s voice grew louder, his release building.

Through the fog he felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rise. He met Eames’ eyes with a startled gasp. They were golden. “Oh fuck, Eames, I’m going to—”

“What took you both so long,” Cobb’s voice was annoyed though his face looked awfully embarrassed when he put all the pieces together. Eames was too quiet, didn’t even have a smart retort prepared. Arthur’s eyes were foggy and he looked to be still half asleep and ready to go back under.

Cobb had only ever had the misfortune of walking in on them having sex once topside, but about a hundred times during a dreamshare like this. It was safe to say he knew the signs.

Arthur was too busy rolling up the cords on the PASIV to notice Cobb blush. “Sorry, we got distracted. What do you need?”

“Uh…” he scratched his head, “Well, we’ve got a lead on the alpha outside of Boston. It’s strongest we’ve had in months and I need you to find it down to a more precise location—but if you’re busy we’ll talk later. Okay?”

Before Arthur could answer Cobb was jogging back up the steps, leaving them alone to come up with awkward post-makeup exit strategies on their own.

 

 

++++

The train from Boston to New York to meet Ariadne and Yusuf was quiet under the presence of thick snow clouds. The dark grey evening sky and the cabin’s gentle heat lulled Cobb enough to rest his eyes. It was easier to relax on trains now that Mal didn’t pop up in his head every time he closed his eyes, but he was itching to call his children again. If they were successful in this or even gained a substantial lead in finding the alpha, maybe Arthur would spend the holidays with him and the children again. His mother-in-law loved Arthur; she always put up a hospitable front when the pointman was around.

Eames cut through his musing, his voice low and cautious of the woman sleeping next him. “I never did get a chance to thank you for your, um…rather bizarre matchmaking skills, Cobb. But thank you.”

Things weren’t picture perfect. They weren’t even back together—not _yet_ , at least, and that yet was so much of an improvement Eames might as well be hanging up the ‘mission accomplished’ banner.

Cobb quirked his brow. “What are you talking about?”

Eames scoffed, but let the man off the hook when Arthur returned and dropped into the seat across from Eames, beside Cobb.

Eames studied his book. If Arthur hadn’t been so preoccupied with planning this trip, perhaps it would have been obvious to him as well. Cobb said that Arthur needed a reason to adapt, and Cobb had delivered. Arthur’s subconscious was the most militarized mind they knew and yet not a single projection had interrupted them the entire time Eames was there. Arthur trusted him and had allowed his guard to be down long enough to see Eames for what he was: the same Eames he had always been, only better.

Of course, switching from “if you touch me my Remington will blow your head off” to playing hard to get was nerve-wracking as hell, but this was familiar territory for Eames. This was the kind of game that ended with Eames wearing Arthur’s ankles for earrings in some hastily booked hotel room for however long they could go without breaking for fresh air and a full course meal out of bed. So Eames passed the time in waiting by thinking of all the ways they were going to beat their current record of six days with maybe two weeks, or even three—Could two people stay in bed for that long? Did they really even need to eat or shower? Arthur was looking rather thin, so the answer to food was definitely yes, and Eames would have to take into account his new strength and Arthur’s human limitations. The man was stronger than most men his size, but if Eames was going to screw him into another hemisphere it wasn’t going to be in the dreamscape again. He would have to be careful…

Well, only time would tell at this point and he was eager to test a few theories.

He didn’t look up from his book but knew Arthur was sneaking glances at him. As much as the pointman had thrown himself into his work after their rutting—that was the werewolf talking—their _completely human and pleasant and pain-free makeup_ in the dream, Eames could feel Arthur’s lust radiating off him in currents. It made his spine tingle. The werewolf wanted at the pointman, the intense desire to mate still tickling the back of his mind, but things would have to be different. Eames was going to control the beast and the very second he and Arthur were alone again, he would prove it to Arthur. He set his sights on the hotel room they would be sharing in New York.

 

He did not, however, expect to be cock-blocked by a towering moose of a man and his wannabe James Dean cowboy older brother.

The job was supposed to be simple: They would fly into Boston to track a lead on the alpha werewolf but take the train to New York under the guise of working a dreamshare gig for a wealthy Wall Street executive to keep their trail as thin as possible.

Except when they got there to meet with the client, the entrance to the sprawling tower was taped off and news reporters were live recording the aftermath of the executive's bizarre suicide. The brothers in their too-cheap-to-be-real-FBI suits were waiting to tail them in the lobby the next morning. Arthur luckily saw them first—the taller one being painfully easy to spot—and Eames got the drop on them within minutes.

They anxiously made plans to flee the city while they waited for their captives to wake up after a too-hard hit from Eames.

Cobb was pacing the room when the tall one stirred awake. He kept his eyes closed and breath leveled out, a move Arthur knew all too well.

He crossed his arms from his perch on the desk. “If you boys don’t mind, we’re on a schedule, so you can stop pretending to sleep now.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHH SHIT!
> 
> YOU KNOW WHAT HUNTERS ARE IN THIS FIC NOW - FINALLY.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Crossing my fingers that I can get out another chapter by this weekend to make up for not updating last week*
> 
> For now, I give you sassy Dean, irritable Arthur, and jealous Eames. Enjoy!

Dean was the first to raise his head. “ _Boys_? ‘M pretty sure I’m older than you, kid.”

Arthur huffed and circled their chairs. “Then you should be far more experienced in keeping the people you track from doing a better job when they return the favor… _sir_.” He secured Sam’s bonds tighter with a smirk of glee so the man couldn’t work the knot loose again. When he walked back around, his glare was still leveled at Dean. “Since we’re on the subject, why were you tracking us? Who are you working for?”

Dean puffed up his chest as much as he could in such tight restraints. He had a feeling that Arthur decided to hate him even before he regained consciousness if Sam was able to nearly free his hands while Dean swore his were about to turn blue and fall off. “You all make it a habit of kidnapping and assaulting government officials, _son_?”

The only change in Arthur’s face was a split-second twitch in his jaw, holding back all his rage. The last stranger to ever call him son was ashes. “I’m pretty sure government officials can afford better suits, so who are you? Really.”

Dean grinned, though inside he was coming up nil on a plan out of here and Sam still looked too dazed. “Sweet group of friends he’s got here to help nurse his Napoleon Complex, right…Agent Lincoln?”

Sam shook his head minutely to shut up his brother when Arthur cracked his knuckles.

Arthur glared between the two, deadpan. “Agent _Lincoln_? Seriously?”

Eames caught his sideways glance. He inhaled deeply, scenting them, and nodded to Arthur, confirming that the men were both human. But then, one of their scents was off. Way off. He frowned, but didn’t speak. What was that other scent?

“So he’s Agent Lincoln,” Arthur continued, “Let me guess. Your name must be Agent Booth? Or is it Davis?”

Damn, Dean thought, the kid was good. “Oh what, first you bash us in the head and then you bash our names? Didn’t your mother ever tell you to respect your elders?” Dean glanced over at his brother but Sam was rolling his eyes in irritation the same as Arthur.

Ariadne snorted. “Except for the fact that we cleaned your pockets when we picked you up, Mr.,” she paused to study his IDs and quickly spotted the real card out of the collection of fakes, “Dean Winchester? Head’s up, Eames.”

He took the card. “Hm. Not a very good forgery, though not a bad one either.” It didn’t have any traces of that odd scent, but at least now he knew whose it was.

The ID was handed to Cobb, who studied the name as if something stuck out for him, but he couldn’t tell what.

Yusuf looked over their collection of weapons where they’d been placed on the table and scratched his chin. “I think you’ve got some serious competition here, Arthur.”

Ariadne walked over and frowned. “Seems extensive for feds. Too extensive.”

Yusuf agreed, “Unless they’re actually secret agents, like .007. Or maybe some of Cobb’s old friends,” he asked, referring to Cobol.

“Doesn’t matter.” Cobb shook his head impatiently. “We’re running low on time. I say we hook them up to the PASIV and get this over with. If they were able to track us here, there’s no telling who else is on our tail.” But it was then that he stepped closer and took a better look at Sam. “Wait…” He didn’t miss the way Sam eyed him with muted curiosity, like he remembered something about him as well. “You said Winchester, Ariadne?” At her nod, he mulled over the name. “I know you boys.”

Dean wasn’t so ready to challenge Cobb like he had Arthur, especially not since he was the only person out of their group who wasn’t picking over his guns. “I’m sure that’s great and all, but I don’t know you, so this doesn’t make us friends…unless you plan on untying us.”

“You’re John Winchester’s sons, aren’t you?”

At this, everyone in the room stopped and turned to Cobb.

Dean frowned. “Yeah. So? Who are you?”

“Dominic Cobb. I worked with your father on the Richmond case a few years back,” he answered, quickly moving to unbind Dean and Sam, ignoring his team’s hesitant looks. “I couldn’t be sure at first. Winchesters aren’t known for hunting in a big city like this.”

Dean and Sam rubbed their wrists gingerly. Dean chuckled at the look on Arthur’s face. “Yeah, well, if Tinker Bell and The Lumberjack hadn’t jumped us, we might have been able to have a more… cordial introduction.”

Sam stood up and towered unimposingly over everyone in the room. “We saw you guys outside the building and wanted to know why you left so quickly. Are you working the case?”

Cobb shook his head. “You’re saying this case is supernatural?”

Eames caught Ariadne’s apprehensive frown behind Arthur. He couldn’t agree more. The last thing they needed was for Cobb to get them involved any deeper.

“That’s what we’re thinking.” Sam looked to Dean for confirmation. “The CEO’s wife was found two days ago in their home with her chest torn open and heart missing. Sounds like your average werewolf attack, but we wanted to be sure of the husband’s involvement before we made a move. There’s been rumors that the werewolf alpha’s been spotted in around the area, so we—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, Sam. This isn’t a show and tell.”

Sam sighed, “Dean come on. We’re out of our element here. They’re hunters too, they can help us.”

“But why come if this isn’t part of your usual M.O.,” Arthur asked, just as wary as Dean of making new friends.

The brothers exchanged looks. Finally Dean answered. “We were in New Hampshire when we started hearing reports of some giant bear thing ripping hearts out of people’s chests left and right and then the scent went cold in Ohio. We saw the news about the CEO’s wife and headed here. You?”

Now it was Cobb’s turn to glance at Arthur but the pointman was busy eyeing Eames in the corner. “We were here on business,” he said carefully, “but since our employer’s no longer…” he searched for the right word, “available…”

“What kind of business,” Sam asked.

Cobb put on his best salesman face. “Ever heard of dreamshare? We specialize in information extraction via the subconscious mind. It’s a pretty advanced science, but not so under wraps like it used to—”

“Wait, hold on,” Dean cut in, “What do you mean? You… you go into other people’s _dreams_? Is that like hypnosis? How does that work?” He eyed Arthur with a brand new level of suspicion. Something about Cas saying that his dreams weren’t always the safest place for conversation in the past. It sent a chill up his spine and his fingers itched for a weapon.

“See, Mr. Winchester, we _actually_ work for the government. The _real_ government.” Arthur stared back, eyeing Dean’s suit vainly. “Other than that, it’s all high profile clients. I doubt you’ve got anything we’d want,” He smirked, but his tone was patronizingly reassuring. “So no need to panic.”

Before Dean could come up with a witty comeback, Cobb cut in. “Well, I’m sorry we all had to meet under such misunderstandings, but if you boys are taking over the case, I guess our work here is done.” He moved forward to shake Sam’s hand.

Dean noticed the expensive watch on Cobb’s wrist. The hunters really were all dressed way more high-end than he and his brother could ever afford.

A light bulb went off in his head. “Why not stick around and enjoy the city for a few more days? Maybe give us an extra set of hands, huh?” He avoided Sam’s puzzled expression, and leaned over so that only he could here, “Have you taken a look around this place? These guys are loaded. No way is any motel we stay in gunna look this fancy.” He willed Sam to understand.

Sam shook his head and sighed. “He’s right. Any friend of dad’s is a friend of ours, right? We could always use some help.” It was only a half-truth, but it wasn’t often that they got to sniff out other hunters.

It would have taken a lot more convincing for Cobb’s team, but when Eames told them about Sam’s unusual scent, their curiosity was well peaked. Their suites had already been booked for several weeks; might as well use the time to find out what the man was hiding.

And it was always a good plan to keep werewolf killers well within their sight. It was a catch-twenty-two, because getting away from the hunters would keep Eames off their radar, but they also didn’t want to be left unprepared for when the brothers inevitably returned looking for Eames’ head on a plate. It could be tomorrow, eight months from now, or next year, but they would be back eventually. They might suck at tracking, but the Winchesters weren’t America’s best hunters for nothing.

 

They split up. Cobb and Ariadne traveled to the CEO’s home to find out more information on the wife while Yusuf worked on an independent project for Cobb. Arthur and Eames accompanied the Winchesters back to the office tower.

It was painfully obvious that Dean was a fish out of water in the city. After losing him in the crowds one too many times, Arthur ordered Eames and Sam to go the rest of the way to the office, while he dragged Dean back to the hotel to do research.  

By the time they neared the lobby, Arthur’s nails had dug red marks into his palms, trying his best not to reel back and punch the man in public. He would walk and turn to find Dean two blocks behind, distracted by a Victoria Secret window display, and they had both almost been killed several times when Dean wasn’t prepared for Arthur’s constant jaywalking and when Dean ran into the street after a pigeon flew at his face. When Arthur first met Eames, Eames’ level of chatter was well past Arthur’s limit, but over the years, he’d learned to adapt. And he wasn’t ashamed to admit that the accent helped.

Dean, however, simply would not stop. It only got worse once Dean figured out Arthur’s sexuality and began to ask _those_ kinds of questions.

And after staring at Arthur’s ass while he walked behind the smaller man for several blocks, his endless stream of pop culture references that Arthur didn’t understand and his colorful innuendos, Dean had Arthur fighting a migraine the size of a bus.

He wished he could be with Eames. The thought struck him suddenly and had him surprised at how much he really missed the man’s company.

“— _lumberjack is your hunky man friend, right? You’re not with that Cobb guy are you? He seems a little boring. No offense. I mean, come on, a pretty boy like you, there’s no way you’re single. But then again, your personality is a bit…well_ _hostile_ —”

Even more than wanting Eames, Arthur wished he was in a dream right now. He could shoot Dean’s nuts off with a rocket launcher in a dream. Hell, he could do it over and over again if he wanted. It would be beautiful.

He tried to tune him out but the only time Dean stopped talking was when he got left behind at a crosswalk.

“— _but anyways, enough about that. Where can a guy get a burger around here? ‘M freaking starving_.”

Even with a mouth full of greasy extra-extra bacon double cheeseburger, he had a comeback for every clipped word Arthur shot his way.

“ _—and shit, I mean, you’re pretty average height but you’re tiny. How you even fit something that big in you-know-where without lumberjack crushing you? He must drill you into China, unless—_ ”

Arthur punched the elevator button and spun on Dean. “Shut. Up. Please.”

Dean took a surprised step back and grinned. “You know you’re kinda cute when you’re enraged.”

“Go to hell,” Arthur murmured, turning his back.

A simple retort. “Already been.”

Arthur glanced at him, and realized he wasn’t kidding. He frowned. “Huh. Me too.”

They stood at an impasse. For a moment, the atmosphere changed.

Dean followed him into the elevator. But before Arthur could say more, Dean quipped, “Well thank whoever brought you back out, because it would suck if that perky little ass of yours got wasted on Lucifer and his grabby hands.” He actually winked.

Arthur’s jaw snapped shut. How easy was it to hide a body in New York during rush hour? Regretfully not easy enough.

 

 

++++

Two days passed and they still didn’t have a definitive lead on the executive case. The alpha’s trail had also gone cold.

Despite Eames’ near constant tracking, even in the thousands of New Yorkers milling the streets day in and day out, there wasn’t a werewolf’s scent anywhere, not even a trace in or near the home. And in spite his pitch-perfect training to refine Dean and Sam’s detective and FBI agent forging skills, the two had almost gotten them caught at least four times now. It was safe to say that the tower was now off limits if they wanted to stay out of prison.

It was well past midnight on the third day when they all agreed to stop working and get some rest. Ariadne and Yusuf retreated to their room while Cobb and Sam sat at the small table on the balcony, discussing the possibilities of dreamshare technology in the supernatural world.

Eames’ cigarette hung loosely in his mouth when he stood at the window for a smoke. He didn’t want to go onto the balcony and get dragged into the conversation, particularly not with Arthur and Dean still getting cozy in the living room and bonding over weapons. It would have been harmless enough if not for the way Dean’s eyes openly wandered when Arthur bent over once again to retrieve the pocketknife that Dean knocked to the floor for the second time.

It had been like this ever since they had all started working together. Dean would crack jokes on everyone’s behalf but all Arthur got was teasing and flirting—at least in Eames’ mind, since no one else noticed how _patient_ Arthur was to the hunter. It baffled Eames to no end, because Dean was even more annoying and unprofessional than the forger had ever been.

Dean had decided, after getting Arthur to pick up the wife’s necklace he’d dropped at the house, that being clumsy with his hands was a great way to get Arthur to bend over and retrieve things for him all day. Damn Arthur’s need for clean spaces; he didn’t even realize he was being played.

Sam seemed to be the only other person to notice and have a problem with it though he didn’t comment. Sam was a pretty decent guy. He soaked up any and all information he could gather from Cobb, who’d worked with their father often while stateside several years ago. John had taught Cobb practically everything he knew in exchange for Cobb’s knowledge of dreamshare and extraction. There was less than a decade of years between Cobb and Sam, but Sam took to him as a student would a teacher. Eames liked Sam. Too bad he was going to have to kill his brother. He already had the perfect dumpster picked out to toss the body in when he was done.

Maybe it would take some stress off of Arthur’s back to have the man finally gone. Then again, Eames knew Arthur’s fake laugh and the fake smile he used just before he shot or severely injured someone. Right now his smile was genuine. How?

But Dean isn’t a werewolf like you, his mind supplied. Of course Arthur would love that. Eames tried his damnedest not to let it get to his head. He was being irrational. Had to be.  

“So,” Dean set down his beer and leaned against the table to watch Arthur meticulously clean his glock. “About the lumberjack?” He held his hands apart illustrating his guess of Eames’ cock size. “Hm?”

Arthur huffed a little laugh but didn’t bother with a response. He knew Dean was trying to exaggerate, and wondered how crushed the man would be if he knew just how big Eames really was. Dean’s little eight-inch gap in the air was nothing. Eames hadn’t been born a man. He was a bull.

“I gotta figure something out though. The lumberjack barely says two words all day, and your personality lasted about ten minutes and didn’t come with rechargeable batteries. The sex must be phenomenal, but I bet pillow talk with you two is just dismal.”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at Eames. When he turned back to Dean he frowned. He kicked himself for not noticing how quiet Eames had been the past few days. He quirked an eyebrow at Dean in mock challenge. “If you’re not too scared, you can ask him about his dick yourself.”

Eames smirked and waited, but Dean didn’t take Arthur up on that advice. Maybe on some level, Eames thought, the man knew he was playing with fire but was too cocky to stop.

Dean smelled like women—And Sam, but that was a given considering their living and working together. Dean did not smell like the type of man to fuck other men, but then, Arthur wasn’t like other men, and the way his elegant clothes fit his petite frame, even the straightest of men could get caught staring. It wasn’t even that Dean wanted a relationship like Eames did. Dean only saw Arthur as a conquest. Eames’ blood boiled.

He watched from his perch on the windowsill as Dean picked up Arthur’s rifle from the nearby couch.

“Whoa,” he grinned, “Whose Remington is this?”

“Mine.” Arthur moved to snatch it out of Dean’s hand.

“Hey, not so fast. You bashed me on the head and touched my babies, so now I get to touch yours.” He aimed at the wall and eyed the scope, stroking the barrel with adoration in his eyes. “This is gorgeous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so smooth and polished in my life. You must take real good care of her. And I see you’ve made some modifications?”

Arthur shrugged a shoulder and pretended to be bored by the rare praise. “I wanted it to be unique,” he said matter-of-factly.

Dean positively glowed. “Ah, now see, that’s _sexy_. Tell me you cook too and I’ll forget our earlier spat and drive us to the chapel after breakfast in the morning. We could ditch Sam and the lumberjack and head to Vegas. What do you say, doll?” He flashed a grin.

The polished wood creaked before it fractured under Eames’ grip. Arthur _could_ cook, and do a myriad of other wonderful things. And right now his ears were turning pink at Dean’s words and he was showing the irritating man his precious dimpled smile. Eames refused to think about how many years it took him to get that same smile while this man had only been here for a few days.

He wondered how tasty Dean’s heart was and if his blood was sweet because he was going to eat him in exactly thirty seconds. Sure, Sam seemed nice enough – _he certainly wasn’t trying to fuck Arthur_ – but Eames was fine with killing him as well if it made chewing up Dean easier.

Arthur chuckled. “You’ll need more than a compliment to do that. And I actually hate Vegas.”

Eames could feel a sliver of his tension disappear from his shoulders. Arthur turned him down. That was good.

Dean nodded. “That’s true. Your Remington ought to meet my Remington first just to make sure they’re compatible for something long-term.”

Goddamnit, he was still trying. He had to put a stop to this before he lost it. Eames cleared his throat when he was calm enough to walk over without his fangs and claws protracting. “Arthur, pet,” he drawled in a purr, “We’ve got a lot of work to do in the morning. Why don’t we turn in and let Sam and Dean have the couches.”

Dean was taken by surprise. “What a minute… He’s _British_?”

Before Arthur could reply, Eames had his arm, guiding him to their adjourned room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god...ooohhhhh my god, finally.
> 
> The latest update is complete. And perhaps rife with typos.
> 
> But it's long and strong and Arthur and Eames might just be down to get the friction on in this chapter so enjoy! :D

 

 

Arthur did not get drunk often.

Getting drunk, particularly when around Eames, was like popping a cork off a bottle of champagne. He knew he was too repressed on a good day – he was a soldier who grew up in a family of Republicans and army vets, after all – but he had to keep himself in check if he wanted to get a job done, and that couldn’t happen if he was too busy jumping on Eames every time the man was in the same room. Getting drunk made all that hard work reining in his desire and perfecting his professional skills go right out the window. He could _not_ get drunk. Ever.

He was drunk now.

It was a major concession on Arthur’s part to even allow one drink while they were still working, but hunting didn’t exactly call for the structured and calculated ethics of dreamshare extraction. One drink couldn’t be too bad at the end of such a long day. But the hotel’s stock turned out to be too good to stop at one, and after three small bottles of liquor from the room’s mini bar, Arthur was feeling very… ‘tired and emotional.’

Some time between the first and second bottle, he’d changed into pajama pants and one of Eames’ t-shirts, but couldn’t remember why. “You know you can’t smoke inside, Eames,” he chided, sitting up against the headboard of his bed, his hair slightly rumpled and his face flushed from the alcohol.

From across the room Eames chuckled at Arthur’s failed attempt to not slur his words. “Correction, darling: I can’t smoke in _New York_ , let alone this hotel.” He tossed Arthur a bottle of water and winced when Arthur dropped it.

It landed on the floor near edge of the bed. Arthur moved to retrieve it but stayed on his stomach with his head hanging off the side, trying his hardest to hold the bottle and not slide headfirst onto the carpet. He huffed, “Put that out and close the window. You’re letting out all the heat.”

“Nonsense, darling. You’re keeping it pretty warm in here all by yourself,” he muttered, liking the way Arthur’s loose pants gave him a sneak-peak of the top Arthur’s ass. The too big shirt hung off one shoulder. Not that Arthur’s usual attire didn’t get his proverbial tail wagging, but he’d missed seeing Arthur swim in his clothes.

Arthur finally turned over. “Then come here so you won’t catch a cold.” His pants sank lower on his hips when he moved back to the headboard’s fluffy pillows.

Eames was too distracted to register just what Arthur had said, but the second it clicked that Arthur was flirting with him – yes, Arthur the Walking Frown, his Arthur – he plucked the smoke outside, closed the windows and curtains and nearly danced over to his bed. Feeling bold, he stretched out over Arthur and lay between his legs, his arms wrapped around his tiny waist. This close he could almost taste the whiskey on Arthur’s breath. “Yes, you’re right. This side of the room is much warmer. Thank you.”

Arthur’s scent took on an edge of arousal quickly becoming familiar to Eames’ heightened senses, but the forger already knew how much Arthur loved being pressed down under his bulk. Sure, the plan was to take things slow, but what harm could come from simple cuddling?

Apparently a lot, as far as Arthur was still concerned. He looked up at Eames in a mix of suspicion and nerves. “What are you doing, Mr. Eames,” he asked cautiously even though his hands moved to Eames’ shoulders.

“I’m getting you drunk enough to pull that stick out of your ass a bit easier, darling,” he purred. “I think it’s working.”

He couldn’t glare properly so he opted to stare at Eames’ adam’s apple and the chest hair peaking out of his opened button-down. “You aren’t drunk too,” he mused. “Why?”

“Can’t. Not anymore. It’s a werewolf side effect. My blood just burns it up. I think the only person more upset over it is Yusuf.”

Arthur thought it over for a moment before bubbling up a cheeky laugh. “ _You_ can’t get drunk anymore? Oh, that’s horrible. And a bit unfair considering how drunk I am. What if you try to take advantage of me?” He gripped Eames’ arms in challenge.

“Impossible,” Eames sighed, lost in those dimples. “I am completely at your mercy as always, Arthur.”

“Good,” he smirked. “I would hate to have to kill you in the morning.”

Eames was hard as a brick in his pants. Arthur uninhibited and threatening his life was definitely high up on his list of Arthur’s sexiest moments.

“Eames?” Arthur asked abruptly. “I think Dean wants to fuck me, but he’s too distracted trying figure you out.”

The forger felt like he’d been suddenly dunked in ice water. “ _Pardon_?”

Arthur’s frown was back. “Did you and Sam talk the other day while you were working together?”

He had to reboot his brain before answering. “Well… of course we talked, but… Neither of us said anything incriminating, no.”

Arthur shook his head slowly, mulling it over as if his brain couldn’t handle being off work mode for more than an hour, even while intoxicated. “Dean saw the scars from our fight in Reno, but how would he make the connection,” he asked himself. “I think Sam might have said something to Dean. He watches you too much. Asks too many questions. It could just be nothing, or a coincidence, but I still don’t like it.”

Eames blinked. “Arthur, are you being protective of me?”

Arthur tried to roll his eyes but it only made him look drunker. “Cobb didn’t think this through. It’s not worth it, putting you in danger like this. What are we going to do if Dean stops staring at my ass long enough to figure it out?”

“I don’t think you realize just how impossible that is. You have a very, very nice arse, darling.” He ducked before Arthur could smack him on impulse. “Stop that. We all knew it was going to happen sooner or later. Cobb’s just…expedited the process a bit. All we have to fear is the full moon, and trust me, if we’re still here trying to solve this case by then it’ll just mean that we are as hugely incompetent as these Winchesters. I think I’d deserve to die then.”

Arthur couldn’t school his expression fast enough when he blanched at the thought of being in Dean’s view for that long. “We shouldn’t be drinking then. We should be getting as much work done now as we can so we can get the hell out of here—”

Eames hushed him with a chaste kiss but quickly pulled back when he realized he’d done it. Arthur stared back at him wide eyed.

Eames opened his mouth to joke it off in some hasty apology, but Arthur’s tongue darted past his lips with lightning speed. The forger could only let his mouth be devoured when Arthur paused long enough to mutter a “finally” into his lips before attacking them again.

Arthur pulled back with a sheepish grin. “You too. You know I never stopped.”

It took a second for Eames to realize that he’d even mouthed the words. “ _I love you_.” And Arthur had said it back, in his way of saying things but not actually saying them. Eames had half a mind to pull out his totem.

Arthur’s kiss was gentle now but still as clumsy. He combed his fingers through Eames hair, over his ears, and traced the curve of his jaw, taking in the details. He had once imagined Eames with anything more than stubble looking like a vagabond but he was wrong. Eames looked so completely, deliciously masculine that Arthur’s toes curled into the sheet—though he would never verbally admit that much.

He let Eames manhandle him over and into his lap and tried his best to unhook all the buttons on Eames’ shirt but it took too much to concentrate on kissing, Eames’ roaming hands, _and_ his shirt all at the same time. The zipper was much easier to navigate. He slid down off of Eames’ thighs taking the man’s grey slacks with him.

Eames let slip a tortured growl when Arthur took a moment to appraise his nipples with his teeth, making the forger see stars. He only had time to slip Arthur’s pants over his ass before Arthur pulled his boxers aside and took out Eames’ cock.

Arthur’s skin was flushed with want and he licked his lips. “I missed you,” he punctuated by mouthing Eames’ head and gyrating his tongue over it before letting it go with a little pop.

Eames nearly shook with need. Arthur’s eyes were locked on his, his lips only breaths away from the tiny pearl of arousal pooling at Eames’ tip. “Oh darling, I’ve missed you too. You have no idea how much I want you.”

Arthur hummed in agreement and gripped Eames’ cock firmly to tongue his foreskin before taking it in halfway, knowing it drove the forger crazy.

Eames reached over him and smacked his palm over Arthur’s ass. He grinned when the man yelped and swallowed around his cock. “My lovely boy,” he rumbled, “I want to open you up and fill that pretty little hole of yours so much. Does that sound good?”

He wet his lips. “I’d like it very much, Mr. Eames.” He swirled his tongue over another bead of precome as it slid down Eames length and swallowed down to the root like a pro.

Eames couldn’t help but groan in contentment. “Fuck, I love when you call me that, pet.” He grabbed Arthur’s hair and tugged him back, ready to come at the sight of the mess he’d made of Arthur’s mouth.

He stripped the pointman hastily, tearing apart his briefs like a piece of tissue paper just to see Arthur shiver under his strength. He paused only long enough to soak in Arthur stretched languidly on the white covers, looking through his lashes both shy and tempting as only Arthur could be.

Eames wanted to howl when he crawled like a stalking beast up the length of Arthur’s body and sank all of his weight on the lithe man, crushing him into the mattress again. He was going to break him, his little porcelain doll, and Arthur was positivity vibrating with anticipation because he knew it too. His body begged for it.

The forger moved to place reverent kisses on the long, deep lines of the claw marks covering Arthur’s upper arm. _Eames' marks_. Arthur tensed and pushed Eames face away, attacking his lips again, willing Eames to forgot that the scars were there. Getting the hint, Eames devoured his open mouth and rolled his hips.

Suddenly Arthur pulled back. “Wait, wait!”

Eames could die of agony right now. He swallowed the whine back down his throat and tried not to show how truly, pathetically horny he was even as his soul began to crumble. “What’s wrong, pet?”

Arthur blushed. “Nothing! Just… I wanted to know, just… How are we going to—I mean, you—your…” his eyes dropped sheepishly to Eames’ groin. “We’re not in the dreamscape… What if…” _What if you turn into a werewolf and knot me and I flip the fuck out and get injured trying to get away and end up in the hospital again_ was what his couldn’t say but it was written in the worried lines of his face.

Oh, right. _That_. He kissed Arthur’s nervous frown. “Nothing to worry about. I promise.”

But Arthur was clearly out of the zone. “Eames, what about… _last time_?” The more he eyed Eames’ cock the more it felt like he was prepared for it to attack him with a machete at any moment. “I mean, won’t that happen… every time?”

He shook his head quickly. “Of course not, darling. I promise. And if I start feeling like I’m going to shift, we’ll stop. No more accidental shifting. It’ll just be you looking all pretty and slutty and me making you purr, like old times, yeah? We’ll be fine.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but returned Eames’ smile. “Well, when you put it like that…” He gave Eames’ cock one more cautious stare and after a minute nodded. “If you say so.” He added in a wooden tone, “I’m trusting you, Eames. _Please_ don’t fuck this up for us again—or else.”

Eames grimaced. Only Arthur could be that insulting and threatening at a time like this.

He rolled them both over again and kissed Arthur’s stomach. “Trust me, love, the only thing I’ll be fucking tonight is this tight little arse of yours.” Without preamble, he tossed Arthur’s legs over his shoulders and ducked down, spreading his ass with his thumbs and kissed Arthur’s hole with the same passion and teasing that he’d kissed his mouth until Arthur’s thighs couldn’t stay open on their own and his toes curled. Eames grinned through another deep rimming kiss, thinking of how irritated Arthur would be tomorrow having to walk around in his fitted pants with beard burn on his ass and inner thighs. This was a serious moment, yes, but Eames wouldn’t be Eames if he didn’t take at least one opportunity a day to make Arthur frown. For good measure, he nipped and suckled bruises over Arthur’s hypersensitive perineum and all over the flesh where Arthur would have to sit on tomorrow.

Arthur back arched and he whined. “Fucking hell, Eames, you tease.”

Eames lifted his head with a smirk. “Me a tease? Never. I’m not the one who struts around all day in those tight trousers, making me want to fuck you over any surface I can get to, you little tart.” He tickled kisses up Arthur’s thighs to his knees.

Arthur’d had enough. He moved from under Eames and pushed the man back to the mattress. The room went a little sideways for a second when he got out of bed to look for lube. Sure enough, he found a tiny bottle buried deep in Eames’ bag; he hadn’t even bothered to check his own. He straddled Eames’ wide hips again, angling himself to give his lover a better view.

It had been a while since he’d been opened like this, even longer since he’d had to accommodate Eames’ girth. He bit his lip, sighing through his nose when Eames’ large finger joined the two already inside him and crooked in the right place on its way back out. It would take longer for him to relax if he tried to stay quiet, so he let his mouth fall open in a moan he knew would only get louder as things progressed.

Eames quickly slicked his purpling head and was prepared to beg Arthur to let him in when the slender man took his length in hand and pressed down. There was nothing that could compare to times like this after being apart for a long period of time, getting reacquainted, adjusting to each other’s bodies. They would both be covered in sweat by the time Arthur was able to take all of him, the willpower to keep his hips from snapping up into such tightness made his vision blur. Eames’ jaw was clenched shut, his fangs wanting to extend so very badly it hurt.

Arthur seated himself in his lap at last and gingerly pulled back up, testing the waters. Eames nearly ripped the sheets held taunt in his fists when Arthur carefully gyrated his hips. His brow creased and his lips remained in a thin line but Arthur's skin was flushed deeper when he began to move, head falling back in rapture when Eames slowly arched his hips up to meet Arthur on the way down.

The room was filled with Eames low rumbling groans and Arthur’s steadily rising pants. Arthur’s hips moved in a pendulum swing letting Eames brush his spot with every other thrust upwards. They couldn’t keep the pace slow, not with Arthur’s impatience to get to the hard fucking he needed and Eames’ crumbling reserve.

“Come on, Eames,” Arthur panted out teasing, squeezing around Eames, enjoying the ache.

Eames growled, trying to keep his head on his shoulders, and failing when Arthur moved harder and faster in his lap. The wolf rumbled in his chest at the crease of Arthur's brow and shivered when a louder moan slipped past the pointman’s kiss swollen lips.

“Eames,” he whined, feeling near frantic with the need of something more. “I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me I’ll find someone else who can.”

That snapped an important part of Eames’ mind, something that he needed to rein in his wavering control and that jealous twitch in his jaw now stirring back to life after being dormant for so long since Reno. He gripped Arthur’s hips with a feral growl and flipped them, plunging into Arthur as far as he could, driven by the sting of Arthur’s fingers as they clawed his back. He latched onto Arthur’s neck, littering it with his scent and bruises like a branding.

Arthur’s face looked pained, overwhelmed by Eames’ power and urgency. “Ow, ow, shit Eames! Oh fuck, you’re too big!”

Eames’ spine tingled hearing those words, his mouth watered hungrily, but he kept the beast tucked away in the pit of his stomach. The snap of his hips was unrelentingly. He repositioned for a new angle, caging Arthur in possessively, spurred on by Arthur’s mewling.

“Oh no, darling,” he growled, “That’s not it. I’ve just got to maneuver around that stick up your ass and,” he knew he’d found the spot he was looking for when Arthur screamed like a seasoned porn star, making Eames proud. “That’s it, love. See? Much better. Fucking hell. Yes, sing for me, pet. Let me hear you.”

He rode through it, focused on Arthur’s voice. He pulled Arthur’s hips over his thighs and punished that spot inside him until he swore that Arthur’s brain was close to shorting out. His own release coiled around him, ready to break and fill his lover, his _mate_.

Arthur truly was in raptures, his spine arched and his legs trembling so close to coming. He didn’t even need to touch his own cock with the way Eames sent pleasure blooming through his nerves with every push to his prostate. His nails dug into Eames’ back a little too deep when he came, clinging to his skin as if he would be swept away by his release.

He wasn’t sure if it was the sting of his scratches or the orgasm itself that shook Eames enough to make him shift. It happened the instant Arthur closed his eyes and seemed to take Eames completely off guard, but it was too late.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no.” There was nothing Arthur could do, Eames had been too close to coming even before the change. Now it didn’t matter so much if Eames’ massive claws tore the sheet on either side of Arthur’s head as he thrust one final painfully powerful thrust. The knot was already forming inside of Arthur.

The forger’s muscles rippled as he shifted, his reddish brown fur creeping out from his jaw line to his shoulders and dusting over his upper arms. His muzzle, a cross between human and canine dripped as he salivated in the pleasure of at last claiming his mate.

Arthur gripped Eames’ shoulders and tried to remember how to breathe. He only realized then that he couldn’t inhale because he was too busy screaming. But he wasn’t screaming in pain like the first time this had happened – neither one of them tried to dislodge themselves this time – no, the swell was so incredibly overwhelming to the point that it pushed his body into an immediate and mind-numbing second climax.

He couldn’t remember if he had blacked out or not. He seemed to blink and the last shockwaves of his orgasms died down into a deep and calming glow.

Eames whined pitifully above him, trying to lick Arthur’s face off in apology for breaking his promise. The more Arthur focused on breathing, the less he felt like dying. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe this was a dream. He hoped it was a dream. He wouldn’t have to worry about a hospital or finding a wheelchair if it was a dream.

The werewolf yawned. His mouth was wide enough that he could bite Arthur’s entire head off without much strain. Nope, this wasn’t a dream. They really had done this again. And now they were stuck.

He was suffocating under so much licking and pawing. The werewolf was going to cuddle him to death to keep him from squirming away, as if he didn’t think the huge knot would be enough to keep Arthur firmly planted. “Eames? Do you think there’s any way to—” he blinked and his face was in Eames’ mouth, just as he’d pictured, except the clumsy werewolf wasn’t trying eat him, he wanted a kiss.

Maybe Arthur was losing his mind, but he giggled up at Eames and couldn’t stop when the werewolf cocked his head to one side, as if confused about why his mouth wouldn’t fit Arthur’s like he wanted it to. It was… almost endearing in a terrifying way. So long as he made no sudden moves. Carefully he placed his hands on Eames’ jaw and stroked his shoulders, tracing the lines of his tattoos that were only visible in deep shadows under the lighter fur.

Eames was…beautiful. Not as beautiful as he was normally, but compared to the alpha, Eames still kinda looked like himself. His shift back into his human form was as gradual and subtle as the knot shrinking. Arthur breathed deeply when Eames was finally able to push off of him and lay down at his side.

“I fucked up again, didn’t I,” Eames rasped to the ceiling, finding his voice. He couldn’t sound more embarrassed and upset if he tried.

After taking a moment to make sure his nether regions were still in tact, Arthur turned to him and combed Eames’ hair down with his fingers. His hands were still shaking a bit. But it had to be from something other than fear, because for the first time, out all of Eames’ surprises, he wasn’t afraid.

“Well, I might need to start doing some of those pelvic floor exercises, if we’re going to keep doing this, but…” He kissed Eames. “Maybe we should catch a nap… before… round two?”

At these words, Eames beamed like a kid at Christmas—or more rather, Arthur was a bit ashamed to admit, like a dog who’d just been freed from timeout. “I’m not tired—but if you’re tired we can. For a little while, yeah?”

Arthur huffed at the sly emphasis on “little while.” But he realized that he wasn’t actually tired or sleepy either. They were both wide-awake and it was only two in the morning. “Maybe,” he offered slowly, “We could do other things— _for a little while_. We kind of rushed earlier.”

Eames was all teeth. “Fantastic plan. Let’s go back through those exercises more thoroughly. I’m sure werewolves give great tongue baths…”

It didn’t take much of Arthur’s legs being wrapped around Eames’ face for the second round to come barreling through. It was better to take Eames’ knot while sitting in his lap, but then taking the knot from behind was better still. They could spoon and sleep while the knot subsided in this position. But when four-o-clock rolled around, they still couldn’t sleep. And when Eames realized that pulling out enough before the knot formed, so they wouldn’t have to lie still and wait for the knot to go down, meant that they could keep fucking throughout, well, Arthur figured they might not ever sleep again. 

+

He couldn’t get out of bed the next morning. His head had a huge concrete slab in it, he was positive, and his ass simply didn’t exist anymore. That had to be the reason why he couldn’t move his lower half. He wanted to punch Eames in the head and have him shift again so he could pluck out his claws and fangs and then neuter him proper for turning him into such an irreparable wreck.

At least, that’s what he thought he wanted. Eames’s arms squeezed his waist tighter for a moment and he growled with content at Arthur’s back. Eames was hard again in his sleep, Arthur could feel _that_ between his legs when the man moved to get more comfortable.

Sometimes Arthur didn’t know how he did it back in those early days when Mal would worry over how thin and “tiny-boned” he was and Eames was twice his size and bulking up even more for his illegal boxing matches in his downtime—When no one but Mal even knew that they were sleeping together. There were a lot of shed tears on Arthur’s part and scratching Eames’ back until it bled, but even then they would fuck constantly it seemed. Eames even managed to get Arthur fucked open and dripping _during a job_ once. Or twice, if they were going to count the time during the Saito job when the threat of limbo meant that they might not ever see each other again so Eames wanted to impress Arthur one last time by showing him his “bigger gun.” But Arthur would never be so worse for wear afterwards.

He was now. He wouldn’t be able to sit on a cloud at this point, let alone walk. And yet, when he turned as much as he could with limited mobility to look at Eames, he could feel his body stirring again.

It was terrifying: He wanted last night to happen again. Right now.

He was nuts. He was crazy. There was no other way of looking at it. Maybe he was still drunk, or had been drugged? Maybe—no. What if he had been turned during sex? He bit his lip to stop from groaning into Eames beard. He couldn’t call Yusuf, ever, and ask him if werewolf semen could rot out his brain. He would shoot himself first.

“Arthur, if you don’t stop squirming I’m going to fuck you to sleep all over again,” Eames mumbled with a yawn.

The moan slipped past Arthur’s lip before he could stop it. His face lit up in a blush. _Go to sleep Eames_ , _go to sleep Eames_ , _go to sleep Eames_.

But it was too late. Eames was already getting up and heading towards the shower. He hefted Arthur over his shoulder a little too effortlessly for his own good with one hand while their bottle of lube was held firmly in the other.

+ 

Arthur sighed again for the umpteenth time. “No Eames, I said I was fine.”

“But darling, you haven’t eaten since breakfast. Surely I can get you something. Here, allow me.” He took the stack of library books out of Arthur’s arms without waiting for his response. He was almost giddy when Arthur finally relented and let the man buy him lunch.

Arthur had nothing to do with his hands now that every single thing he’d touch, Eames felt he needed to carry for him. His fingers twitched in his pockets. The book on werewolves said that once the initial mating was successful the dominant partner would go into a period of nesting – _coddling_ – his mate, but Arthur had no idea it would be _this_ bad. Arthur could pitch six-foot-tall thugs off of a roof on a bad day with a cracked rib but in Eames’ mind he shouldn’t even lift a bag of sandwiches on his own. Eames had helped him shower, helped him dress, rubbed his stomach under the table all while they sat together in the library, and had broken the nose of a homeless man when he accidentally got too close to his precious Arthur. And all Arthur could do was stare on in suppressed horror over how crazed and possessive Eames was.

Some of this could have been endearing for Arthur, if the very second Arthur even so much as looked Eames’ way like he wanted to fuck, Eames wasn't pouncing on him and tearing up yet another pair of the expensive hotel sheets. This last time, the knot lasted for almost an hour. _An hour_. An hour of research gone and Arthur couldn’t even explain why it had taken them so long to return to work and why Eames was even clingier than before. He was mortified.

“I’m only saying that perhaps you shouldn’t push yourself so much today.” Eames warned when Arthur insisted on going to the kitchen to fix his own tea.

“If you were so concerned for my well-being, we wouldn’t have fucked _four times_ before breakfast and twice after, Eames,” he hissed. “And stop petting me like I’m a fucking cat. I’m working.”

Eames didn’t say much else after that and stayed mostly to his own end of the sofa looking dejected.

It only took ten minutes of blissful silence for Arthur to start missing Eames’ attention. He couldn’t believe how pathetic that sappy fool could make him.

He looked over at the pouting man and noticed how different his eyes were. They didn’t have that wolfish glint anymore; they were quite normal, human. Maybe Eames hadn’t been all there this morning after all. Arthur sighed as the forger glanced his way, feeling like he’d kicked a puppy.

They had definitely had too much sex in the past several hours, but he had to give Eames credit, even if he did so grudgingly. He’d rather have a werewolf fuck him into oblivion than eat him, and not only was Arthur still alive, still human, he could walk pretty good as well, and couldn’t remember feeling so relaxed and content in a really long time. He had to admit at some point that he was impressed and none too relieved that Eames was in control enough that he hadn’t become wolf food.

He almost wanted to let Eames talk him out of work again but his reverie was cut short when Cobb entered the living room, Sam and Dean not far behind. Cobb, in his usual I-won’t-ask-so-please-Eames-don’t-tell-me fashion, nodded briskly to them as he headed for his workspace. Sam looked bashful. Dean eyed Eames as if the forger had singlehandedly won the Superbowl last night and disarmed a nuclear bomb all by himself.

Arthur fumed over his laptop, his face hot. No doubt the entire floor had received an earful last night and, Arthur dared to think, this morning too.

He hated Eames. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The point where shit gets real for Eames.

 

 

Arthur didn’t give Eames enough credit. He was the first to attests to Eames’ talent as a forger and hunter, but when it came to other things, like his self control, well…

Arthur didn’t have the patience to make sure that Dean was still following him to the café near the office tower. That was Eames’ job this time. They needed to hurry there before the afternoon rush so Eames could catch his new tail, an assistant the CEO picked up from Miami who, by his appearance and resume, was more of a hired thug than your average nine-to-fiver.

Dean bit his lip. He tried distracting himself and failed. Sam warned him; Eames didn’t look like the kind of guy one should play around with—which confused Dean because he wasn’t aware that he ever ‘played around’ with guys who could snap his neck like a toothpick. But he couldn’t help it. He _had_ to say something. “So…” if he didn’t make it out alive, so be it. “Peter Pan’s a little minx in the sack, huh? I saw you wince when you put on your coat this morning, you dog,” he chuckled, “I mean, I didn’t think he could get any louder after yesterday, but boy, was I wrong. He’s gotta be a handful. You know he’s swaying his little hips for you, right? Just look at him.”

Eames _was_ looking. He hummed in agreement, floating in his and Arthur’s mingled scent as the icy, snowy air blew his way. Arthur’s walk was definitely a—he skidded to a halt. Dean was too busy eyeballing Arthur’s ass when Eames dragged him into the nearest loading dock alley by his throat.

Arthur frowned but didn’t comment when Eames and Dean finally made it to the corner table of the café. Eames practically sat in Arthur’s lap with his arms crossed, boring holes into Dean’s neck that Arthur now noticed was bruised. Dean sat next to Sam and Cobb trying his hardest not to look shell-shocked.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he’d ordered a stronger coffee when Yusuf joined them with a newspaper and Ariadne’s bubble tea.

“Guys, you’re not going to believe this,” he beamed, “But I think I might have gotten us a solid lead.” He flipped through the newspaper until he found the right page. “Check this out. Apparently the wife was responsible for a huge charity that the corporation sponsors every year, for all manner of causes like helping underprivileged children, survivors of abuse, and even homelessness. Sounds like Kate would be the kind of wife that everyone would love, right? Wrong. Half of Michael Pettibone’s family and a huge chunk of his circle of super rich snob friends, _hated_ Kate. They’re all stated in this article as accusing her of being a gold digger and basically trashing her for being in her thirties with five husbands under her belt—one of which died from a sniper shot straight through his heart right before she married the CEO. I mean, this is some serious soap opera drama here.”

“He was _shot_ by a _sniper_ ,” Arthur balked, mirroring everyone else’s shock.

Yusuf nodded, “He was shot by a sniper, my friend. Pretty badass. Could have been a mob hit, could have been Mr. Pettibone’s ‘assistant,’ though that’s for Eames to find out today, what kind of work he was employed for.”

“But how does this tie in to the husband’s death, then?” Sam asked.

“Maybe a vengeful ex-husband,” Ariadne offered. “Guess he was thinking, better he off Pettibone first instead of letting Pettibone find him? Whoever it is could be our suspect?”

“That’s what I’m thinking from this article,” Yusuf nodded. “And look here. Even with all this animosity towards her, her best friend, her sister _and_ Pettibone’s children all say that Kate and Michael were madly in love with each other, and that her past relationships were all pretty terrible. An ex-husband sounds very plausible.”

“But Eames and I reviewed all of her ex’s,” said Sam, “None of them seemed the werewolf type.”

“Ah, but that’s only her _living_ ex’s,” Yusuf countered, a grin forming on his face.

“Whoa, hang on a sec,” Arthur sat up straighter. “But how would her dead husband kill her and then throw the husband… Wait. So we’re dealing with a ghost then?”

Ariadne frowned. “A ghost that makes a werewolf crime scene?”

Dean had to clear his throat to stop from sounding so strangled before he spoke. “If it’s a ghost crime of passion? Any kind of violent, terrifying attack could be possible.” He glanced at Eames as if the man was going to choke him out behind the café again.

“That’d have to be one hell of a pissed off ghost,” Sam sighed, not sure if this new information made what they were facing easier or more difficult. Werewolves were one thing, vengeful ghost who ripped out hearts and threw men from 80-story windows? That was a whole new rodeo.

Cobb mulled it over, then nodded. “If Eames can get in and find out if Pettibone knew any of her former husbands, then the rest of us can focus on finding out more about this deceased spouse in the meantime. Yusuf, excellent work.”

Just as Arthur’s research proved, the assistant walked in for his afternoon espresso and two cranberry-orange scones like clockwork at 12:17pm. It was hard to tell whether the man was naturally burly or if his bulk came from such a heavy winter coat, but it would help Eames to blend in as he stepped in line behind his mark and followed him out the door.

 

The snowfall had nearly turned into a blizzard when Eames left the tower that evening. He had pocketed the man’s work ID, Pettibone’s office keys, and the phone and email records from his secretary in little time. No one in the sprawling top floor offices had even noticed he was there. They’d all written him off as another hired goon now that the vultures were circling and each prospective new CEO had their men standing guard, waiting to take control of Pettibone’s corporate kingdom.

Thick white snow blanketed everything but the dirtied, bustling streets. Eames was on autopilot as he practiced lighting his cigarette the way that his mark did, copied his stride, his posture, and took note of all the places he stopped on his way home and where he bought his evening takeout. His mind was back with Arthur, wondering what the pointman was up to now and if he missed him as much as Eames did.

It caught him off guard to find himself in the mouth a building’s loading dock, the mark’s pace slowed to a halt as he made his way past several garage doors and a passing delivery truck. The thick smell of motor oil and dust cloaked everything, to the point that he was totally unprepared when the mark and another heavy man rounded on him around the next corner.

He ducked and dodged as the two men tried their best to bring him down but he held his ground. Until he heard a gun’s safety click beside his head. He released the man he’d had in a headlock.

Eames chuckled low, amused that these men thought their little lead bullets would keep them safe.

His laughter was echoed by the voice coming up behind him. “Touché. These bullets really do nothing up against a grizzly bear, do they?”

Eames turned, confused for a moment. The Scottish man brushed snowflakes off of his expensive coat and suit, circling, eyeing Eames with eerie familiarity.

He grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Didn’t I tell you, boys? Daddy knows how to pick his thoroughbreds. Hello, Mr. Eames.”

“How do you know me?” Eames closed his hands into fist to hide his extending claws.

“Of course I know you, cupcake. Everyone knows me.” His eyes glowed blood red long enough for Eames to jog his memory. “You’re my pride and joy, Eames. You turned out to be quite the Doberman, just like a I knew you would.”

It had been ages since Eames ever felt this cornered and enraged. “What happened, Crowley? You missed me kicking your ass back to the crossroads so you came looking for another round, hm?”

Crowley eyed his fingernails as if he’d just had them manicured. “Actually, my young strapping lad, you may have won that battle, but while you were drooling over Arthur’s dimples, I went to work in a few overtime hours. Let’s just say that I’ve already won the war. Tell me, how is my little favorite tortured soul doing these days? Does he still have those awful nightmares?”

Eames’ growl was ravenous. “What the hell have you done now?”

“I bought some real estate: You.” His face split in a grin at Eames’ confused glare. “To give your simple mind the short version? Tell me, how did fighting the werewolf alpha turn out for you? It’s a shame that he didn’t stick around long enough to see you've grow into your new skin. He’d be proud knowing that I picked him the best heir this world could find. Maybe when all this is done, he’ll pay you a nice visit, hm?”

Eames could feel his control slipping. “What are you saying, Crowley. Spit it out.”

“I’m saying that I gave you Christmas early, and now it’s time for you to repay me the favor.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I never made any deals with you or asked you for anything. The last time I saw you, you were running back here to the States with your tail between your legs.”

“Careful, boy. I’m not the one who turns into Cujo whenever he’s tossed a bone to chew on. Besides, it hardly matters what you did to get here, you _will_ be persuaded. I’m quite good at that.”

Eames rumbled, “Don’t waste your breathe. The answer is no.”

“Very well. I’ll make you a deal. What if I handed you that tired old alpha on a leash? Or even…a chance to retire peacefully when all is done. You wouldn’t neglect your retirement like Cobb does. I’d bet Arthur would love that.”

“Fuck off.”

“How about we ask Arthur what he’d think?”

Eames took a threatening step forward, a growl tumbling out of his chest. ”How about you stay away from Arthur, or I’ll rip you to shreds and use your bones for toothpicks after—”

“Don’t _ever_ threaten me, boy,” Crowley sneered, losing his cool. His eyes glowed red. “You might think you’ve got some kind of an advantage with you little canines, but I’ll drag Arthur back into the pit by his hair if you test me, and this time around, when I’m through with him he’ll be licking my boots clean while you get skinned and lining Sam’s coat by those fucking hunters you love so much. Do you understand?”

Eames couldn’t argue with that. He could feel blood dripping between his fingers as his claws dug into his palms. “I don’t get it. Why me? Why us?”

“Do I owe you the truth? I sent that alpha after you because I wanted Arthur all to myself,” he chuckled dramatically. “No, no, no, that’s just too cruel. I can see how much you’re struggling to keep it together as is. No need for me to poke at the beast further. You see, I have plans for all of you hunters, but… You and Arthur are just…special. Sure Cobb is decent when he’s not crying all over his dead wife, but that comes from having Arthur as a lapdog all these years. But you two together? Makes me a little nervous,” he shrugged. “So you can imagine why I’d pick you for a little experiment I’ve got planned in the near future— _if_ , of course, you don’t lose your head and kill the Winchesters before I get to use them properly,” he arched his brow suggestively.

Eames paled. “You want us… to kill the Winchesters?”

“Bingo. By the time you all leave New York, those two souls should be mine. Isn’t like you weren’t already thinking of doing it,” Crowley grinned. “Look at you, Eames. You’re one very special werewolf, but a werewolf nonetheless. Even the most powerful of you creatures can’t ignore basic instincts for too long. Jealousy, territorial possessiveness, a need to protect your mate at all cost? Those can be very powerful instincts.”

Crowley circled around casually, studying him like Eames was a pouched lion. “Let’s think for a moment, Dean is rather fond of _your_ Arthur, isn’t he? Poor Sammy. Poor, poor Sammy. And you and Dean, you’ve got enough in common, or at least, seeing the kinds of men that Arthur’ll open his legs for,” he paused, letting Eames bristle at the implication, remembering Reno, “You and Dean just happen to be his type. Although… Arthur’s _still_ a little terrified that you’ll kill him—Oh don’t give me that look, poppet. Did you know he keeps a loaded glock taped under his bed? And not just any old, run of the mill glock, no this one’s loaded with something just for you. Perhaps it’s there for easy access when you… Well, you know.” His face took on a mocking grimace, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “He would never have to do something like that with Dean, now would he? Dean isn’t a monster. At least not the kind that would maul his beloved quim as he was trying to fuck him, though those scars are very becoming of Arthur. I’m guessing since he reeks of your knot these days, it won’t be long before he acquires even more…” he searched for the word, leering when he found it, “ _souvenirs_.”

In a flash Crowley ducked behind one of his goons, pushing the unsuspecting demon in the path of Eames as he shifted, claws ready, to tear Crowley into ribbons.

Eames saw only red and the body before him, heard only the crunch of bone and screams silenced by a demolishing bite to his jugular. Beneath the copper and flesh was the taste of demon’s blood, sickly sweet like caramel and taffy. His teeth and claws devoured the body until they scraped the brick wall, a hole where the man’s heart, lungs, and spine once were.

When he pulled back to breathe the alley was empty. Crowley and the possessed mark were long gone. He blinked at the carcass he still held against the wall, his stomach heavy with blood. He stumbled back against the opposite wall and made his way on weak legs further into the alley, praying that no one could see him or the body. His human nails were stained with blood as his claws retracted, his face, the front of his coat were covered as well.

He reached for the snow blanketing the pavement and buried his face in a handful, trying to erase the red, and tore apart his coat before tossing it into a nearby dumpster. What had he done? He knew Crowley was goading him, thought he could take it, but then… And what was worse, under his nausea and guilt, he felt great. He felt revitalized by the flesh he’d consumed, more focused, stronger. He hurled, covering his eyes against the blood and bits of flesh as his body heaved over the snow, trying it best to expel the evil within.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Eames hold their breaths and wait for the inevitable shoe to drop.

 

 

Arthur paused his typing, distracted by Yusuf and Cobb’s muffled voices in the next room. It was getting late and Eames still hadn’t come back.

“Don’t worry,” Ariadne said low from the carpet near his legs where all of her papers spread out over the floor. “He’ll be back soon enough. The way you two have been going at it…”

Arthur’s ears were turning pink. “I’m that transparent, huh?”

The voices grew louder in the other room. Ariadne sighed. “Well, I’m going to make some tea. You want anything?” At his no, she quietly made her way over to the kitchenette.

Arthur thought of texting Eames. Maybe they would go out to dinner when he got back.  It would surely surprise the hell out of Eames for Arthur to take him out on a real date after such a long time. He hid his grin even though Sam was on the other side of the room buried in his own project.

He was done picking the restaurant when the two men entered the room, both looking tired and wishing that they could be anywhere else right now. Ariadne, he noticed, was still hiding at the granite-covered island, a mug of tea steaming in her hands, her back turned.

“Arthur,” Cobb touched his shoulder, “Let’s go have a chat, shall we?”

He glanced from Cobb to Yusuf, who was looking at the floor, and frowned. With little to protest, he followed them out to the hotel’s elevator and to the posh roof overlooking Lower Manhattan. Fresh snow crunched underfoot.

“Am I in trouble or something,” he teased, buttoning up his coat against the cold.

“No, of course not, Arthur,” Cobb looked out over the city. “We just wanted to catch up with you on how things are going with Eames.”

His ears were definitely pink now. Did Cobb sleep with earplugs? “Uh…” Arthur was never one to talk openly about his private life, even before things had changed. They should have gone to Eames if they wanted details. “It’s…” How was it? Good? Great? Terrifying? He hadn’t actually thought about it before. “We’re… working things out.”

Cobb seemed pleased enough. Yusuf was still fidgeting and uncharacteristically impatient when he said bluntly, “Still wanna blow his head off?”

It didn’t sound like a joke, so Arthur held his tongue and eyed Cobb for a social cue.

The man sighed and combed his fingers through his hair uncomfortably. If Yusuf wasn’t going to beat around the bush, neither would he. “Arthur, we’ve been working on a better form of protection for you, in the case that you need it—but only if you need it.”

That didn’t get Arthur very far, unless… _did he sound like he was in danger when they were having sex_? He almost turned to leave when Yusuf reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small wooden box. He placed it on the ledge near Arthur’s hand.

“What is this,” he frowned. His face was impassive when he opened the box. They were bullets, all ranging in various sizes for different guns, though most of them would fit his Remington quite perfectly. They were silver.

“Remember in Reno, when we said we were working on a more powerful bullet? Well, this is it,” Yusuf explained. “Rather than just the age old silver, inside the shell casing the bullet is coated in wolf’s bane which stunts healing. The bullet itself is silver, but in the event that it breaks apart inside of the body, the most inner layer, the core, is gallium for its low melting temperature. That way, the metal is in the bloodstream. Once it reaches the heart, it’ll kill the werewolf. With normal silver bullets, you’d have to empty an entire clip into the person in order to kill, but with these, just one or two bullets will do the job.”

Arthur studied the box with interest now. “These are for the alpha? Yusuf, this is incredible.” Why would something like this need to be private? Yusuf didn’t look very impressed with his work, even though the man had clearly outdone himself.

“No,” Yusuf responded with a tinge of annoyance. “These are for Eames.”

Oh. Arthur blinked back at him then down at the box. A painful spike coiled in his stomach. He put the box back on the ledge like it was covered in poison, his expression turned sour.

“I know what it sounds like, Arthur, but believe me,” Cobb offered.

“Was this your idea, Cobb,” Arthur cut in. “You know I don’t need you to protect me, especially considering how everyone convinced me that it was safe to come back, remember?” It was more biting than he’d wanted.

“Of course, Arthur, but just hear me out, okay?” It was like they were in Reno all over again with Cobb trying for calm even though Arthur was a second away from exploding. “We all know Eames is one of us, but we just wanted to make sure that you weren’t left without a leg to stand on in the case that… Well…”

“Except for the fact that even Arthur knows that Eames isn’t like that anymore,” Yusuf countered slowly, eyeing Arthur in a careful plea for confirmation. This was his best friend they were talking about, after all.

“No,” Arthur shook his head, regarding the box like it had teeth. “I can’t accept these. No.” Only, inside, a large part of his rational mind screamed to take the box. He loved Eames, yes, and Eames was in control of himself when he shifted now, yes, but the full moons were still… unpredictable, to say the least.

And the last full moon had been rough. Arthur didn’t know where Eames had gone to ride it out– he never asked – but when Eames returned, he couldn’t stop puking up _other people’s_ blood for a week. Arthur had ignored his urge to figure out where and how many people Eames had massacred. He just didn’t want to know.

His hand unconsciously covered the box. He looked out over the city, wondering where Eames was now. What if he had gotten into trouble, what if…

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Yusuf, but I need you to be honest here,” Cobb stated after a moment of silence, “I know you want to protect Eames—who doesn’t? But you’re not telling Arthur the whole story.”

At that, Arthur frowned deeper.

Yusuf sighed heavily and hung his head, “I know.” Finally he met Arthur’s eyes. “Don’t blame Cobb, okay? Even though his has been an insufferable nag about all this. This was Eames’ idea as well. He… He was the first to agree with Cobb to test it, he felt that it would make being with him easier for you. Granted, he hasn’t ask me about it in months so I doubt if he even remembers signing on to this project.”

“But why would Eames…” It all clicked.

“So that you can continue to protect yourself, Arthur.” Cobb patted his shoulder. “Saying that Reno scared him is an understatement. He cares about you very much. Take them. Put them in your gun safe and lock them up, if you want. The choice is yours.”

He nodded, studying the box again as Yusuf and Cobb left. His hand twitched wanting to accidentally nudge the box off the other end of the ledge and never think of it again.

Sometimes he hated Eames, like right now. Eames was just so… capable of loving and loving so completely that he’d help make the one weapon that could kill him, just for Arthur. Always for Arthur.

Arthur wiped his eyes tiredly. He didn’t want these bullets, but he did. How could he sleep with Eames, love Eames if he kept this box? He would just hate himself if they ever ended up inside of one of his guns. The worst part of all was that if he loved Eames as much as the man loved him, then these bullets wouldn’t even have to exist. Eames loved so easily, so freely. Even after so many years, Arthur still had no idea how the man did it. If he’d just trusted Eames—

— _then he would be dead right now_ , his mind supplied. He couldn’t forget that, rubbing the scars through his coat sleeve. He’d hesitated, back then, and it had almost cost him his life. And there were still the full moons to think about.

He was good at lying, even to himself and it took very little to convince him that he carried the box back down the stairs to the elevator only because Eames would want him to. He would replace only one bullet from each of his guns with a new one, just so that Yusuf’s work wouldn’t be wasted collecting dust, of course. That was his excuse. And he would discuss it with Eames, too. If Eames’ mind had changed about the bullets since Reno, then he would get rid of them in an instant. They would talk about it over dinner.

He felt far less guilty all ready.

+

Eames was feverish and panicky when he finally made it back to the hotel, thanking every god in and out of existence that Arthur and Cobb weren’t there, though he was grateful to see Yusuf. He’d fucked up ten million times in his life and Yusuf was the only person that never judged—

“Holy shit. I take it the mark didn’t like being followed,” Sam asked from the kitchen archway as he headed for the main worktable with a stack of papers. “You okay?”

Yusuf was halfway out of his chair but paused looking between Sam and Eames.

Eames quickly ran his hand over his face. It was clean save for a spot of blood at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I’m tip-top,” he grimaced. “Where is everyone?”

“Cobb had a phone call and Arthur’s… out,” Yusuf supplied when Sam shrugged.

It didn’t pass Eames’ notice that “out” didn’t explain anything compared to “Cobb’s making a phone call,” and where was Sam’s brother? For a moment, he couldn’t stop Crowley’s taunts from flashing through his head. His claws wanted to come out, be he couldn’t lose himself again. It had been so long since he’d killed, let alone ate someone, and the beast was too pleased to have blood on its tongue for him to relax. He had to get this under control and wondering where Arthur and Dean were wasn’t helping.

Yusuf saw the glint in Eames’ eyes and tried to follow him to his room, but the door clicked shut and locked before he could. That wasn’t Eames’ blood. He hadn’t seen Eames’ blood in a very long time thanks to his healing powers, so whose was it? He chewed on his lip, but stopped when he noticed Sam watching him.

Eames sank to the floor beside Arthur’s bed. He wanted to get up and get cleaned, call Arthur, but he felt too tired. He wanted, needed, Arthur here. He would know what to do to calm the forger down—No, Arthur would judge, wouldn’t he? There was no way Arthur could know what happened without it driving home just hpw dangerous Eames could be, just like Crowley'd said. Maybe getting Yusuf in the meantime wasn’t such a bad idea, but he couldn’t move from the spot.

‘ _Did you know he keeps a loaded glock taped under his bed? And not just any old, run of the mill glock, no this one’s loaded with something just for you_.’

Eames buried his head in his hands, trying to ignore those words. It had to be a lie. Nothing that someone like Crowley said could be true, except… But Arthur hadn’t… not in months. And Eames had been nothing but safe all this time… They were back together. Weren’t they? Arthur trusted Eames, right?

His hand closed over the gun taped to the metal frame under the bed, covered by the heavy sheets. A sob broke free and then another. He was crumbling. Yusuf knocked on the door gently so that only Eames could hear it. He couldn’t tell if his tears were from exhaustion, anger, or pain, but he couldn't let anyone see him like this.

“I’m fine, mate, we’ll talk later,” he mumbled, stumbling to his feet.

Eames dumped his clothes onto the floor of the bathroom and turned the shower on to scalding. He wanted to drown in the spray. He wanted to shift again. His body was restless to hunt and bring down a sizeable prey. _Like Sam_ —he shook his head, trying to focus. He could feel Sam’s supernatural energy even from here and he wanted to pick him apart and find out what that extra something was inside him. Anything to numb the hurt and anger within him.

Arthur didn’t trust him.

His claws scrapped the tiled wall, he was salivating around his fangs, a low growl rumbled in is chest. He hadn’t even realized that he’d shifted.

Arthur still didn’t trust him.  _Why would he_? That question was enough to make Eames consider packing up and leaving. Maybe Crowley was right, maybe Arthur would be better off with someone who wouldn’t turn into a monster and hurt him. But why couldn’t Arthur see how much Eames had improved? The last day alone should have been proof enough that he and Arthur could be together like before. What more could he do? 

“Eames?” Arthur knocked on the door again. When Eames didn’t answer for the third time, he walked in.

Eames opened the glass door, still dripping in his human form.

Arthur’s expression was cautious. “Sam said things didn’t go so well with the mark? Is everything okay?”

Nothing was okay, but Eames nodded anyways. He wanted to pull Arthur to him, kiss him, yell at him, fuck him, anything, but getting his nice clothes wet would only piss Arthur off. And god knows he didn’t want to get shot at, though the joke fell flat even in his mind. His feelings, his nerves were too raw. He hadn’t felt this vulnerable in a decade.

“Can I ask you something,” his voice was still rough after shifting back so quickly. He eyed Arthur through his dripping hair. When the pointman nodded, he took a breath. “What would have happened to me—what would you have done if I hadn’t been turned? If I had been killed instead?”

Arthur flinched, not prepared for another uncomfortable heart-to-heart. The bullets were still in his coat pocket, for Christ’s sake. And he remembered being resigned to mourn Eames’ death. Hell, he was going to kill Eames himself when he saw that Cobb couldn’t. Guilt washed over him like a flood once again. “Honestly? I really don’t know. I would have bargained to get you back? Gone and done whatever I needed to get to you? Maybe I would have called it quits, since none of this would be worth it without… But first I would have turned the alpha into confetti. And then set it on fire,” he answered, his voice surprisingly level.

“Would you have moved on?”

Arthur snorted with surprise. “Are you kidding me? You accused me of being a high tech android without genitals for about three months after we met because you were convinced I wasn’t programmed with an ‘off-work’ switch, remember?”

He huffed out a strained laugh, nodding. “True. And if he’d killed you first trying? What then?”

It only took Arthur a second to think it over before he shrugged. “It would be worth it,” he said to Eames’ feet. “For you.”

Arthur cleared his throat and reached into the shower to turn off the spray, deciding that the conversation was over. He grabbed a towel and tossed it around Eames’ shoulders, using it to draw Eames further out of the stall.

“I made dinner reservations, if you’re up for it? I figure it’s been a while since we both…” He swallowed the lump growing in his throat. Eames’ eyes were almost accusatory the way they pierced Arthur’s guarded face. It was an understatement to say that he wished he could read Eames the way the man read him.

Eames only nodded after a minute of watching the way Arthur toweled him dry almost worshipfully. Maybe…

Arthur didn’t stop watching him and quietly doting here and there until Eames was properly dressed. When they reached the door, Eames stopped, momentarily overcome with panic. What if the police were waiting for him at the lobby? Or Crowley?

“Eames? We can stay in, if you want. I don’t mind, I just…” _I just want us to both have a normal evening together like old times_. “If you’re not up to it, it’s fine.” Dinner would make for a nice change, but really Arthur was content to just stay here, if Eames wanted, and curl into a ball around the man’s chest in Eames’ bed that was barely used now that Eames always slipped into Arthur’s at night.

He reached for Eames’ hand in a rare gesture, fingers locking with Eames’ like an anchor. Whatever unpleasant storm was brewing in Eames' mind, Arthur didn't like it.

Eames squeezed his hand gently, realizing that his urge to kill had disappeared. He could breathe again standing next to Arthur. He startled the smaller man when he buried his face in his neck. Arthur smelled like Eames and no one else, not Crowley – _thank God_ – not Dean, and not like he was afraid to have Eames near. There was an underlying taste of dark and bitter emotion, but Arthur wouldn’t be Arthur without that little pcoket of mystery.

Arthur had no idea how long they stood by the door holding each other as if letting go might make the other vanish. Reality hit home today, quite severely and Arthur hadn't been prepared at all. What would he do if he couldn’t have this man to hold onto? He melted into Eames’ side and for a moment the whole world disappeared. For a moment there was blessed peace.

+

Eames watched a bead of sweat slide from Arthur’s neck down to his nipple as his chest heaved, body trembling with the need to come and the necessity to remain still in Eames’ lap while the knot swelled. Eames carefully dragged his clawed fingers over Arthur’s waist and hips and towards his straining cock. It wouldn't be safe for him to take it in his hands like he wanted to, but he was content with raising goose bumps down his skinny inner thighs, playing with the downy below his navel.

Arthur’s release came suddenly, rippling through him when the werewolf’s coarse tongue lapped over his nipple. His mouth fell open in a silent cry as his contractions squeezed more of Eames’ come into his body. A blush creeped up over his cheeks at the way Eames watched him, taking in every detail.

Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur as they both came down from their highs. He didn’t tell him about Crowley. After all the stress Arthur had been through to adjust to Eames’ curse, he was finally beginning to accept this. The last thing he needed was to worry about Crowley being involved, especially when his hands were already full with Dean’s meddling. And Arthur would do something preemptive to stop Crowley from hurting Eames even if it meant sacrificing himself. Arthur was a lot of things but he was not invincible. Eames would have to wait and figure out his options.

Arthur sighed into Eames’ shoulder as the knot shrank and the fur disappeared. He let Eames turn them both over and envelop him with warmth. He was safe in Eames’ cocoon of arms and legs. He wanted to destroy Yusuf’s bullets but he couldn’t. He also couldn’t talk to Eames about it no matter how heavily it weighed on his chest. It would turn into a fight and their relationship was too fragile for that right now. He wanted to hate Cobb for being so overprotective – and right – all the time, he wanted to hate Eames for going along with Cobb, and he wanted to hate Yusuf for being the one man in the world brilliant enough to make something like this request into a reality.

They lied together in silence, a thousand words and emotions warring to get off their chests but all that came forth at last was an “I love you” whispered from Eames in the dark and after a pause, Arthur’s sighed “You too” soon followed.

+ 

When they woke up the next morning Arthur’s body was wrapped around Eames like a protective shield at his back, though neither was willing to think about just what Eames needed to be protected from.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit is officially getting real. Buckle that seatbelt! 
> 
> (More soon!)

 

 

Dean shook his head, dismayed as he hurried to catch up to Arthur’s pace. “Curly hair and dimples. Those things are usually supposed to make a person look cute and cuddly, instead of… you know, intimidating and terrifying.”

Arthur hands balled into fists as he breezed through another intersection, half a mind to smash the windshields of the drivers’ cars that almost hit him and Dean. “I swear on my father’s grave, if you don't shut up, Dean. For once in your life, just stop talking.”

He'd refused to admit that Cobb had been right, once again. But he didn’t avoid eye contact with Cobb like Yusuf had this morning, no, he simply refused to look or speak to the man at all. Cobb had jinxed Eames, had to, because in all the months that they had been working together since becoming a werewolf, nothing had ever been so bad as what the newspapers printed about the suspicious and grizzly death of a high profile Wall Street banker.

Eames had finished his shower and got dressed and noticed immediately that everyone except Sam and Dean were dead silent. He knew what had had happened even before he saw Yusuf’s newspaper with the headlines “SECOND VICTIM FOUND WITH CHEST MISSING—POSSIBLE LINK?” and a picture of the man’s face he’d killed to the left. On the right, the picture showed police loading a body bag into the back of the coroner’s van.

Cobb was trying to mislead the Winchesters, who at this point had no idea how this man fit in with the Pettibones. It was like a miracle stroke of luck that Sam remembered that this man dated Pettibone’s wife several years back when the two met in college before her first marriage. There was, however, no denying after a trip to the coroner’s office that this particular killing was definitely a werewolf’s work, not a ghost.

Maybe the situation with Crowley was bad. Maybe the prospect of having to explain to Cobb and Yusuf and Ariadne why he’d done this was terrifying. But having to face Arthur was hands down one of the scariest moments of his life.

It had never occurred to Eames that Cobb, even in a situation like this, would make their pointman the one designated to wipe the alley of Eames’ prints and sneak into the police station to collect his’ shredded coat from the evidence locker. It wasn’t a normal aspect of Arthur’s job – this had never happened before – but he was the only one capable of going in and coming out without a trail.

He had cleaned up Eames' mess, cleared his name. Eames had been so distraught and in a rush to flee that he’d forgotten that his totem was in his coat pocket until he saw it sitting on the table in front of Arthur next to his untouched breakfast.

Arthur wouldn’t look at him. He politely excused himself from the table when Eames sat down next to Ariadne. Her hand moved to his back, rubbing in circles when the Winchesters had their backs turned, her touch full of sympathy. Arthur distracted himself with taping up photographs and maps to the living room wall to finalize their makeshift case board. He shook his head quickly and moved out of Eames’ reach when the man stood beside him.

“Arthur…”

“No.”

It was that simple. If Arthur wanted to avoid talking about this, what could Eames do but wait? Except he couldn’t wait, couldn’t bare to see Arthur withdraw from him with that painfully familiar tension in his shoulders and fear distorting his scent, along with—

Disappointment. Arthur was disappointed and lost, but he was also in the middle of work and no matter what was going through his mind, he wouldn’t let it get in the way of Eames doing his job.

Not that Eames wasn’t already too invested to think about anything work related.

“ _…remember what we talked about, Arthur. They’re there for your protection_.”

Eames turned his head to listen to Cobb’s voice coming from the adjacent room behind Cobb’s closed door. He could tell that the man had Arthur boxed in the corner near the door, stopping the man from leaving.

“ _I have work to do, Cobb_ ,” Arthur begged in the most impersonal tone he could muster. “ _Please_.” Cobb mumbled something even lower but Arthur cut in. “ _I just want to finish this, okay? I’ll deal with that later. No, I’m not going anywhere. Yes, I’m staying. Isn’t that enough for right now?_ ” When the door opened, Eames could see that Arthur’s eyes were glassy and his shoulders were slumped the tiniest bit.

Eames stepped close to him, ignoring Arthur’s defensive glare. He took his arm and led him to their room.

The door was locked behind Arthur. He felt trapped. “Eames, this can wait, okay?”

Eames’ hands went to Arthur’s shoulders as the man tried to walk pass him, but just as quickly pulled away when Arthur flinched. “Arthur, just let me explain—”

“Explain? How can you explain doing that to someone? You didn’t just kill him Eames, _you ate him_ ,” he hissed. “I saw the body. What, did he attack you? Is that why your coat was destroyed? What the fuck, Eames?”

There was no way out. If he lied, it would only make him look less sane, and if he told Arthur the truth… Arthur would most definitely freak out if he knew Crowley was in town. “It… Fuck, it was an accident.” He rubbed his face tiredly, preparing for the storm. “I snapped.”

Arthur stared him down angrily. “You snapped? Eames, this man was married, he had three small children. Jesus Christ, Eames… who’s next? Fuck, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because your first and only method of dealing with shit like this is by running, or avoiding it like a plague. What was I supposed to say?” He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice low.

Arthur stepped back as if he’d been struck. “You’re right, because I wanted to believe you, that things are fine, Eames. I don’t need anymore proof that my fucking life is in danger every time I’m near you, okay? And that was before we starting sharing a bed again. I kinda ought to know about when you ‘snap’ since I’m the one in a vulnerable spot at least 90% of the times when you shift. But this is different. It’s not like we actually can talk about this now with two people in the next room who would kill you if they found out. So for fuck’s sake, can we just focus on this job, get this shit done, and get the hell out of here before you or one of them ends up dead. Okay?”

“Actually,” a voice rang out from behind Arthur. “I think that would resolve quite a bit of your problems, if you ask me—which no one ever does. Thankfully my advice is free.”

Eames honestly couldn’t tell if Arthur’s spooked face and rigid spine came as a result of Eames shifting, or if the sound of Crowley’s voice alone was enough to drop him into a dark place without having to see the man lounging on his bed. Eames was still looking at Arthur, so the werewolf wasn’t startled into an attack when Arthur shot forward with lightning speed at the gun Eames kept hidden under his blazer and rounded, ready to open fire on the demon from his nightmares.

Crowley was quicker. In a split second, he had Arthur against the wall and his arm twisted painfully around his own neck, the gun’s barrel pointed under his chin with Crowley’s finger on the trigger. Arthur didn’t even try to struggle free.

Crowley tightened his grip anyways, digging the gun into Arthur’s skin. He smirked and pressed a chaste kiss behind Arthur’s ear just to hear Eames growl.

But Eames kept silent in spite of his instincts, knowing how thin the walls were. He was too enraged to shift back and the longer he stayed this way the more chances Sam and Dean had of finding him out.

“You and your dog are certainly smarter than I thought,” Crowley teased to Arthur in a hushed voice, eyeing Eames over his shoulder.

“It would be nice to say the same about you,” Arthur huffed, trying to take in more air though his throat was constricted under Crowley’s hold. “You have a werewolf to your right and a room full of hunters behind the door. Not very smart.”

Crowley chuckled, squeezing a brusie into Arthur's wrist. “You’ve still got a little mouth on you, after all my training you to be a good boy,” he tsked and leered when Arthur tensed under his grip. “But you forget I never leave the house without my prized pup at my heel.” He clicked his tongue and sure enough, they heard the telltale scratch of paws on the hardwood floor and the Hellhound’s low, heavy breathing.

Eames seethed with a burning need to destroy the hound and Crowley but Arthur was too compromised.

“Now,” Crowley breathed. “You get your dog to calm down and I’ll do the same with mine. Deal? Oh—but then I almost forgot. See, werewolves like Eames don’t get along very well when there’s another powerful beast in his presence. It could be a hound, or... another werewolf… a vampire, any number of beings with sharp enough teeth and he’s ready to fight to the death.” He manhandled Arthur closer towards Eames. “See those teeth? That’s about a ton of force behind those jaws, and I know you’re familiar with his claws. I bet you didn’t know that marks from one werewolf’s claws or teeth will permanently mark you as top-shelf prey to all other werewolves. Almost like pissing on a tree to mark territory, only werewolves go nuts at the chance to claim another wolf’s possession, or to finish the job since Eames couldn't. Fascinating how it all works, isn’t it? And it’s only going to get worse, the easier it gets to shift, the more people he kills,” he whispered in a sing-song voice. “But you and the others already know that. You in particular.”

Without warning, he cut off Arthur’s air supply entirely. Eames bit back a whine as he helplessly watched Arthur struggle just before he lost consciousness.

Crowley dumped him onto the bed like a ragdoll and stepped closer to Eames, boldly putting Eames’ gun back into his holster. “Now I’ve got a little trick that could reverse your condition, if only I were feeling generous.”

Eames could sense the moment Crowley subdued the hound. He could feel his own inner beast pulling back. “Do you honestly think I would do anything for you now,” he growled. “I told you to keep Arthur out of this, to stay away from him.”

“You know, I’m pretty close to changing the script on this little scheme. The Winchesters aren’t nearly as self-sacrificing as you. If I had Sam wrapped around my finger, do you think Dean would think twice before killing you and Arthur if it would save his brother? Meanwhile, I can’t even get you to understand that I’m not _asking_ you to do something for me, I’m _telling_ you, in the first place. Get me those souls and you and Arthur will be left alone for the foreseeable future. If you don’t, then I’ll make you wish you had. Consider it a bluff or not, but this is your gamble.”

They both glanced at the direction of the door, hearing footsteps coming closer.

“I’d love to stick around and chat more on a day when you don’t have your mouth full of bones and blood,” Crowley smirked, “In the meantime, I just wanted to remind you that you’ve got homework due. The deadline for the assignment is fast approaching. Better get to it, Eames…”

“Hey," Dean shouted, pounding his fist on the door. "You two lovebirds done humping each other yet? We’ve got work to do out here.”

When Eames turned Crowley was gone.

Dean decided he’d had enough of Arthur’s unexplainable rage strut through the streets of New York when he slipped on a sheet of ice on the sidewalk and almost fell on a parked car. “All right, enough of this, Arthur. I’ve let you run your temper tantrum for the last ten minutes. It’s freezing, and you are _not_ going to turn me into pigeon food in the middle of the street.” When Arthur ignored him, he grabbed his arm, trying to slow him down.

It was a mistake. Arthur had him up against the cornerstone of the building they’d been walking past, all the fires of hell burning in Arthur’s eyes. He didn’t seem as if he were in the right mind to not dislocate Dean’s shoulder so Dean held his breath, as still as a statue, until the pointman’s grip eased and he stepped back, giving him space.

Dean took a calming breath, thinking that Eames had to be the sorriest man alive to be the target of that much rage.

Arthur righted his coat and avoided the panicked glances from the people passing them up and down the street. “Sorry. Just… I don’t like…”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of having extra hands on me either. Point taken.” He wiped snow off his hat and coat sleeves. “You wanna talk about the fight you and Eames had? Sounded pretty serious.”

It _was_ serious. When Arthur woke up he could barely stand from trembling so severely in anger at Eames. He didn’t know what to think about what had happened. Crowley was hands down the one of the most underrated demons in the universe. His true methods of torture where unparallel and at times put Lucifer himself to shame. Arthur had gotten caught up in Crowley’s web of accused hunters for stealing his bones. Arthur had no clue where they were, but Cobb did, and Arthur would never sell out Cobb. When Arthur had ended up as Crowley’s personal plaything and punching bag, it had taken everything within Eames to bring him back in one piece. The very last thing Arthur wanted was to be unprepared when he faced the demon again. So imagine his surprise at Crowley showing up in the hotel room and chatting with Eames as if they’d been in business for years.

Arthur was beyond livid.

He huffed several times into his gloved hands to warm them up, not bothered by Dean’s obvious discomfort over brining up the subject. He rolled his eyes when Dean pressed the issue. “Forget it.”

Dean deadpanned. “Seriously? You _punched your boyfriend in the face_ , who by the way has one hell of a strong nose for it to not be smashed into his skull right now never to return. How does somebody go from having sex around the clock to looking like you wanted to chop up his dick and sauté it over an open flame and feed it to stray cats? And now—don’t try and bullshit me on this—now, you’re out here trying to pick fights with random motorists? Come on, Arthur.”

Arthur wanted to argue and yell, but his shoulders sank, defeated. All his adrenaline seemed to drain out of him like a deflating balloon. He turned and starting walking again, but this time with a slow gait, his eyes on the snow.

Dean followed beside him, annoyed. “You wanna know something I’ve learned in the past several months since I got brought back? There’s something, ah…” he searched for the word, “significant, perhaps, that all us post-Hell graduates have in common. I wasn’t sure before, but after today, I know this for a fact: We all know a Hellhound when we hear it.”

Arthur skidded to a halt and turned to face Dean. His mouth hung open for a split second, ready to speak, but he paused, seeing real sadness and pain in Dean’s normally smug expression.

“Yup,” Dean continued, moving out of the way of rushing pedestrians. He leaned against a wall, watching them pass by. “And unless you two have started up a rehabilitation shelter for rabid dogs, that wasn’t a German Sheppard I heard prancing around in your room. Look. You’re dealing with something with Eames. Just like I’m dealing with something with Sam, okay?”

When Dean sighed, it showed his age. “And I’m not gunna tell you to go back up to the room and talk to him about how you feel, like that’s the right kind of medicine for everyone. It’s not. Talking to Sam sure as hell didn’t help. Some times, it’s better just to let them sort it out on their own, but it always comes back to bite _you_ in the ass, when you’re least prepared for it. Always does, sooner or later,” he mused. “The only thing that sorting it out with them does is it gives you a chance to be in control of when that bite happens.” He hesitated and had to consider how much of his own story he could tell without putting his brother at risk. “I know Sammy did something to get me out of hell… I _know_ he had something to do with it, a deal of some kind. If Eames did the same for you, then… just keep looking out for each other, and yes, talk. Quit all this stomping around and pouting, so neither of you gets left with your fly open when his deal blows up in his face. Okay?”

Arthur stared at Dean’s feet for a long time, processing. Where had this stern and weathered man come from? He was too surprised to ask. After a moment, he looked up. “What do you know about Crowley?”

“He’s a dick, to say the least,” Dean snorted, “Him being King of Hell now’s got his ego shooting up past outer space, but I remember when he was just a two-bit crossroads demon. Won’t be long before he’s back at his old job with his tail between his legs. You can beat him. Just gotta know where his soft spot is, and believe me, it changes all the time. Figure out how to work whatever it is he’s got over Eames’ head to your advantage and he’ll back off.” Dean couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious under Arthur's stare. "What is it?"

“Nothing. You’re just… oddly not so irritating when you aren’t hitting on me.”

Dean frowned, but guessed that it was as good a compliment as he would ever get from somebody like Arthur. “Another part of being a post-Hell graduate, maybe. Some people come back and curl into a fetal position until they lose their minds, and some, well… some turn into _you_ , aka, a bitch, and some of us gotta laugh to keep from swearing our heads off and emptying a clip or two into somebody’s face,” he shrugged with a wink.

Arthur huffed, cracking a grin that Dean swore could only be seen through a microscope. “I know this will come as a great shock to you, but I’m actually a pretty easy-going person… when I’m not stressed,” he conceded as an afterthought.

“Ha! And this happens how often? I'd pay money to see that. Is there video proof of you ever actually hugging someone other than Eames?”

He was going to say Cobb’s children just to be a smartass, but caught a familiar face in his peripheral. “Whoa… Dean? Look at the fifth man in the dark coat about to cross the street. I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to be dead.” They both slowed to a halt, watching the man check his phone and tighten up the belt on his coat when he neared a group of tourists, almost like he was hiding something.

“Yeah… Sam definitely went to that man's grave yesterday and as far as Sam's concerned, that man is still there. Son of a bitch,” he said in awe. He pulled out his cell to call his brother. “Unless zombies found a way to not look like zombies, I think everybody should meet us down on Broadway and Pine Street. Mrs. Pettibone’s bullet-in-the-chest ex-husband just went into Starbucks.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has taken for-fucking-ever, but...here's a lil super short something as my apology for leaving this one for so long. 
> 
> I'm crossing my fingers that I can have more soon-ish, but... just stay posted! :D

+++

“If we were being chased, we’d be dead by now,” Yusuf muttered. The taxi was blocked behind a SUV and a city bus. “At this rate…” He didn’t want to think about that. The key was to get to the cemetery before all his inner what if’s became realities.

Ariadne’s face was glued in her tablet as she searched to confirm Cobb’s theory, phone in hand, ready to call him with instructions just as soon as—“Here, found it. Whoa…You gotta be kidding me. Look at this.”

 

Dean was more than a little impressed when Arthur whipped out the fake ID badge that Eames had perfected over the last few days and scanned them up the elevator past the security desk. He was even more impressed by the way Arthur seemed to know just where to swing the butt of his gun around all the corners where guards and hired thugs were lurking on the top most private floors.

Dean was the one who’d spotted the ex-husband’s ghost when he finally emerged from Starbucks with two coffees, one in hand and other tucked into his arm. He was carrying a briefcase towards the tower.

“Maybe leaving a trail isn’t such a good idea,” he said, voice low as they crept their way to the end of the hall where two large, brass plated doors loomed like a shining gateway into hell. “Somebody’s gunna think all these sleeping goons might be a little suspicious.”

"Just a little?"

"A little bit."

Arthur rolled his eyes and eased the last guard down to the floor quietly. “Honestly? I'm just counting on our luck not running out before the others get here.”

 

Cobb took Sam and Eames immediately to the lower, busy working levels of the office tower, where clerks and secretaries buzzed around cubicles and typed rapidly at their desks. They laid low in the break room until Cobb put away his phone. “It’s the son.”

“Are you certain?” Eames frowned as he and Sam loaded their guns under the table with rock salt.

He nodded. “Ariadne just called it in. Pettibone’s son is in the running to take over in a few days. He’s been working here as a loan manager under the name Dennis Lerman.”

Sam nodded. “Makes sense. The father must have kept his oldest son’s employment here under wraps just in case something like this happened. Bet he didn’t think the hit would come out of left field like this from his wife.”

“Or from a ghost,” Cobb added. “The sooner Yusuf and Ariadne get to the cemetery, the better Arthur and Dean might fare with whoever’s behind all this. We focus on protecting the son. Eames, keep a lookout. Sam, you think you can get him out of his office without much attention?”

“It’s worth a shot.” He glanced at Eames who holstered his weapon and made for the door, Cobb following close behind.

 

Ariadne paid the cab driver while Yusuf made his way to the right tombstone. She caught up to him out of breath a moment later, puzzled when she heard him curse under his breath.

“Well,” Yusuf said, putting down the bottle of lighter fluid near his feet. “What do we do now?”

The marble slab covering the grave was pushed to one side. The ex-husband’s bones were missing.

 

Eames knew almost at once that Pettibone’s son wasn’t on the floor and sensed that Sam knew it as well.

Breathing deep he tried to find the man’s scent, but with no luck.

Sure enough, when Cobb found it the room was empty.

Sam stood in front of the glass walls of the son’s small office, mind racing. “He could be anywhere in the building right now. Where do we start looking?” he asked Cobb.

Eames worried his lip between his teeth. This wasn’t right, or rather, things had been going _too_ right up until this point, finding out about the son and spotting the ghost. What was the point of all this? His nerves tingled up and down his spine; the werewolf was growing agitated after such a long and stressful day.

He heard a gun fire from above, so faint and far away it almost slipped his notice. “Arthur…”

 

The ghost was on Dean and Arthur even before they opened the brass doors, his chest bleeding out all over his shirt and suit jacket, staining Dean and Arthur’s coats.

Arthur fired off a shot and missed, the ghost blinking in and out and then behind him. The ghost twisted his wrist until the gun hit the floor.

Dean reached for it as Arthur and the ghost crashed through the heavy doors.

Arthur couldn’t get up. Dazed from the impact he rolled to one side and gripped the cold hands around his throat, trying to dislodge them. He saw too late the man standing behind the door and tried to warn Dean but couldn’t catch his breath in time.

The man swung with all his strength, hitting him on the back of his head, knocking Dean down. The gun went sailing across the floor.

The ghost blinked out again only to reappear beside the man, handing him Arthur’s gun.

“Excellent work, Jeffrey. Now go finish tending to our other guest,” the man’s deep voice was surprising coming from his small stature.

Arthur coughed up another breath, rubbing his throat. He glanced to Dean who was completely out and then to the second limp body hidden just barely behind the large ornate table across the room.

He managed to sit up against the wall at his back. “That’s Pettibone’s son, isn’t it? Is he…”

“He’s dead, yes. It took long enough to find him. Turns out he was under my nose this whole time. I'll give it to Pettibone, he was always smart like that. Except, well… I suppose everybody’s luck’s got to run out eventually. Lucky for me I figured out a way to expedite the process.” He smirked and eyed the ghost fondly, as the beingset about loosening the rope from around the son’s neck.

Arthur glanced back at Dean. He still had his own gun tucked into his pants, and more importantly, he was faking his unconsciousness like he’d done when they’d first met. “So this was your plan the whole time?" he stalled. "There has to be a better way to climb the corporate ladder than this.”

“But why waste that kind of time?” He popped a cashew in his mouth, chewing around his words. “I literally killed several birds with only one stone.”

Arthur watched the petite man trace his fingers over the briefcase on the table.

“In exchange for my agreement to hand over you and your team’s bodies to Cobol, they sent in their best witch to summon up Jeffrey, though finding you wasn’t so difficult as I’d thought it would be in hindsight. You see, women as tempting and beautiful as Kate ought to be more careful when expelling their husbands. I gave Jeffrey the freedom to exact revenge on her _and_ Pettibone for having him killed. After that, Jeffrey was very happy to help me take down the son so that I could absolve power over this corporation. I deserve to be here, far more than Pettibone ever did. We built this company together. I did his dirty work for years, and what did I get? Mistrust. And Pettibone thinking he could wipe me out." He shrugged, a sinister grin creeping up on his face. 

Arthur schooled his expression as the man stepped forward, towards him.

He smiled down at Arthur, smug. "Perhaps he called in extractors a little too late, don’t you think?”  


End file.
